What It Takes
by Peachy Papayas
Summary: Hermione has always wanted to be a Healer. Now, at 22, she's being denied that chance because of who she is. Broke, lonely, and desperate for a job, she searches the classified section and finds one. But it isn't what she expected... DHr DISCONTINUED.
1. The Odd One Out

Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE_**: This is my new story – What It Takes. It's a D/Hr romance, and while I don't usually sail that ship, it makes for a good story. J Anyway, I just want to make it clear that this doesn't follow the storyline of my MWPP fic. That belongs to a completely separate universe, and has no connections whatsoever to this one. Just a note.

Summary: Hermione Granger had always been the brightest of the bright; the best of the best. A previous Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione had aspirations to become a Healer – the best there ever was. But things didn't turn out the way she wanted them to. Hermione becomes the "odd one out" or the magical world, solely because of her non-magical heritage. Now, Hermione, aged 22, is poor and desperate. After being kicked out of her job at the Goblin Liaison Office and getting thoroughly pissed, Hermione searches the classified section of the Daily Prophet for a new job. She finds one, but it isn't quite what she expected… Particularly when she finds out that her boss is her old school tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Now, Hermione has to work on projects that become increasingly difficult, deal with how her friends are _finally _seeming interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have **_what it takes _**to make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione sighed, shoving her brown hair from her face. It was becoming frizzy again, she noted. She recalled endless conversations with her friends – all of them telling her that her hair looked _much _better after she used perfected a straightening solution.

Well, perhaps _perfected _wasn't the word. It didn't _completely _straighten her hair – just made it less… frizzy-ish.

"Miss Granger?" Hermione looked up from her desk and saw her boss's snotty secretary. The woman was platinum blond (_That has to be fake, _thought Hermione) and icy-blue eyed. In fact, if she hadn't been a perpetual bitch with an intensely sour look on all the time, she might have been pretty.

Well, Mr. Hammond found her pretty. It was quite a rumor around their little division of the ministry that he was sleeping with his secretary, carrying on an affair with a random girl he met in a bar, and then there was that whole… already having a wife 'thing.' But so far, Mrs. Hammond was either too stupid to notice her husband's straying affections. Or perhaps she didn't care.

Goodness, if _Hermione _was married to Mr. Hammond, she wouldn't care. She'd be glad to get rid of the oaf, in fact.

Hermione, at twenty-two years old, was absolutely miserable. She worked in the Goblin Liaison Office. It was possibly the most boring job in the world. When she'd first been hired, she'd just needed the money, and the current Head – Cuthbert Mockridge – hadn't been a bad sort, but two years before, he'd retired and instated his second-in-command – Bertram Hammond – as the new Head. The man was a pureblooded bigot if Hermione had ever met one.

Things would have been better if she'd had her friends around her. But she didn't. Harry was a professional Quidditch player and so busy jetting around with Puddlemere United that he barely had time for _any _of his friends. Ron, on the other hand, was no better – as he was now an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries, he was always too tired to go for a drink after work. And Ginny was a beautiful researcher on the Committee of Experimental Charms. Not only was she a researcher, she was a _top _researcher – one of the co-heads of the Committee, in fact.

But _no, _not Hermione. No, Hermione wasn't like the rest of them. She was a Muggleborn witch, and that had set her back – despite her being Head Girl, despite her being the brightest student of her class, despite her being an inducted member of the Order of the Phoenix (which had nothing to do, now that Voldemort was defeated), despite her being one of the 'Special' generation, and despite her being one of famous Harry Potter's best friends, one of the wizards (and witches) who had defeated Voldemort and his followers in the final battle.

No, none of that mattered. Because Hermione didn't have a _drop _of wizarding blood.

When Dumbledore had been alive, Muggleborn wizards and witches had had an easier time. Hermione thought wistfully of Lily Evans-Potter, who, in her time, had been a renowned Healer until her son had been born and she'd been brutally murdered a year later. But Dumbledore had died in the Final Battle, saving Harry Potter's life, and any and all respect for Muggleborns had died with him.

Hermione had known plenty of Muggleborn wizards and witches when she'd been in school, but she'd lost touch with them over the years. She wondered where they were now, how they were doing. The only friend she ever talked to – and even then, it was infrequently – was Ginny. But Ginny was loving life and doing so well that she barely ever had time for poor, dull Hermione…

"Miss Granger!" Elsa Franks – Mr. Hammond's secretary – was sneering at her. "Mr. Hammond wants to see you in his office. _Now._"

_What've I ever done to you? _Hermione wondered tiredly, but she put her papers away, slowly and deliberately – she hid a smile when Elsa began to tap her foot impatiently. Hermione got a kick out of pissing off Elsa – it was the only thing that _really _made her smile anymore these days. It just seemed that nothing was funny anymore.

"I'm going," said Hermione, not looking at the impatient Elsa. She finished filing away her folders and stood up. She walking to Mr. Hammond's office and shut the door quickly behind her, thus preventing Elsa from watching. (She thought she heard a squeal of outrage, but she might have imagined it.)

"Hermione!" Mr. Hammond smiled at her, but it was an insincere smile. Hermione felt a shiver of nervousness run up her spine, like someone was drawing a cold finger up her back. "Sit down, please!"

She sat, crossing her legs and neatly folding her hands in her lap. "Mr. Hammond, what can I do for you?"

He continued to smile at her, getting up from behind his desk and walking around. "Hermione, you've done excellent work. This report on Goblin Rebellions in the 1400s and how they set back wizard-goblin relations was _fascinating._"

_Really? _Hermione thought cynically. _That's odd. I fell asleep while writing it_._ The only thing more boring that I can imagine is… well… Percy's cauldron bottom report. No, I take that back. My report was **definitely** more boring._

"You've done excellent work." He was sitting on a couch, now; he patted the seat beside him. "Come and talk with me over here. It's much more comfortable. Would you like some wine?"

Hermione felt a feeling of foreboding, and sought desperately for an excuse to get her out of the suddenly stuff-office. But Mr. Hammond didn't give her the chance to say anything.

"I want to discuss your promotion. I think it's time we upgraded you to, say… my personal assistant?" He smiled again at her. Hermione sat down with some trepidation.

"Thank you, Mr. Hammond," she added, taking the wine glass he offered but not tasting it. "And… well, don't you think _Elsa _is far more qualified to be your assistant?"

"No," replied Mr. Hammond. "I want you." Hermione froze. "…To be my assistant," he continued, setting aside his wine glass after gulping its contents. He took the glass for Hermione's hand, as well. "But the question is, do you deserve it? How far will you go to _prove _you deserve it?" Hermione felt a hot hand on her knee, and jerked away.

"You're hitting on me!" she said angrily, standing up.

He smirked up at her. "You want that promotion, don't you? Tell you what. I'll even pay you extra for your… _services._"

Hermione didn't want to hear any more. She stormed to the door and yanked it open; Elsa fell in. She had clearly been attempted to eavesdrop, her ear pressed tightly to the door. "I'm leaving," said Hermione, her lower lip trembling. It'd been a trying day for her, and things were only getting worse. She was going to become hysterical, soon.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," said Mr. Hammond with a frown. "You need that promotion. Don't tell me you have the money to get by. Your job pays shit and you're a _Mudblood._ If you walk out that door, you'll never find another job. And you can kiss _this _one goodbye."

Hermione blew him a mocking kiss and stormed out the door.

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione had barely made it into her kitchen before she burst into tears. She looked around her slightly dilapidated apartment miserably. Her life was crashing down around her; she was now unemployed, fairly poor, rather desperate, and extremely hysterical.

_The only good side to this is that I don't have to wake up at five in the morning anymore._ She peered out the window and saw witches and wizards going by on the streets of Diagon Alley below, bustling here and there and finishing their evening shopping. Hermione never had time for that, and now that she _did _have time, she didn't have the money.

She took several deep, calming breaths, and went into the bathroom, scrubbing her face. Her stomach was growling, but she ignored it. When she had scrubbed off all her makeup and tears, she snatched up her purse, determined to do what she knew all of her male friends would do in a situation like this (although, granted, it was rather rare for a _male _to be hit on by an ugly, fat boss while working a minimum wage job).

She was going to get completely and utterly pissed.

X-X-X-X-X

"Can I have another, Tom?" asked Hermione, not removing her face from her arms. She heard a sigh, and looked up miserably. Hermione had a very low alcohol tolerance, and after several Firewhiskies (she couldn't remember the exact number anymore) she'd found herself feeling completely miserable and, on top of that, the room was spinning very fast.

"I think you've had enough, Hermione," said Tom firmly. "You need help gettin' back to your room?"

"No, thanks," said Hermione, pulling herself off of the barstool. She rummaged around in her purse – where the devil was her wallet? "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a Knut. Just go home and rest. You look terrible."

Hermione took his advice and went home. At her apartment door (Number 32), she rifled around through her purse, searching for her key, before bursting into tears again. She leaned against the door, sobbing silently. It was late; most people were asleep, and it was unlikely that anybody would hear her.

She sank miserably to the floor, still sobbing. Her life was _ruined._

X-X-X-X-X

A soft hand touched Hermione's shoulder. She jumped, surprised – her landlady, Mrs. Jones, was staring down at her. "How long have you been out here, love? You look awful."

"I _feel _awful," groaned Hermione, pressing a hand to her forehead. She felt hot and had the worst headache she'd ever had in her life. "I think I got drunk," she added helpfully.

Mrs. Jones shook her head. "All right then, love. You sit there, and we'll get you inside." Hermione nodded numbly as the woman went through her purse, finally extracting a key and inserting it into the lock. She pushed the door open and surveyed the living room. "You should furnish this room a little bit better. It could be very nice, you know."

"I can't," moaned Hermione. "I don't have the money, and I just lost my job. I can't afford _anything._"

"It can't be all that bad," she said, smoothening Hermione's hair. "Still, let's get you inside. You need to lie down." She helped Hermione into the apartment, into the bedroom. Hermione flopped on the bed, and Mrs. Jones covered her with a thin blanket that was made in Gryffindor colors. The colors were faded, now. "Just have a nice lie-in, dear," continued Mrs. Jones in a soothing voice. "I'll send up some hangover remedies."

"I don't think I can afford those, either."

"That's quite all right; they're on me." She flipped a switch off. "Rest, dear." And she shut the door. Hermione was out in moments.

X-X-X-X-X

When Hermione awoke next, the clock beside her bed read two in the afternoon. "I haven't slept this late in _years,_" she grumbled, but she got out of bed. She went into the bathroom, quickly stripping down before getting under a cold shower. It made her feel better, but the ache in her head didn't go away.

When she stumbled into her kitchen, wiping her bleary eyes and wrapped in a once-fluffy pink bathrobe, she saw a thin glass bottle with a note and a key next to it.

_Hermione, love – here are your hangover remedies. Don't worry about the cost; you just feel better_.

Hermione silently thanked Mrs. Jones, gulping it down. She remembered, somewhere, in the back of her mind, Professor Snape's voice: _"If you ever administer a hangover remedy, remember this – be certain to take food with it, or one will begin to hallucinate." He'd pursed his lips. "Granted, when I look at who I'm teaching, I suppose the lot of you hallucinating would be an improvement."_ _The Slytherins had laughed; the Gryffindors had scowled._

Hermione reached into a cabinet and drew out a box of cereal, simply sticking her hand in and eating it dry. An owl swooped through her window – she paid it (_I wonder how many Knuts I have let? _Hermione wondered anxiously) and slit open the letter. Her heart jumped into her throat.

_Dear Hermione,_

_How've you been? It's been ages since we talked. I really miss you. I hope things are going well for you._

_I've got such great news! At the Committee, we're working on something that will help to reverse the condition of people like Neville's parents – you know, people who've had their brains addled by magic? Well, guess what? We've **actually **made progress! Well, sort of. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom are talking, again, but it's kind of nonsense and twaddle most of the time and they have really short term memories. And they don't recognize anybody or remember anything, or even each other. But it's a start, right?_

_Hey, maybe we can get together, you know? Go to one of those fashionable restaurants in the really upscale areas of Diagon Alley. I can actually afford them now!_

_Can't wait to hear from you,_

Ginny 

Angrily, Hermione threw aside Ginny's letter. It'd been months since she'd last gotten one, and that one only served to make her feel worse. Wonderful bloody Ginny was having a wonderful bloody life while dating wonderful blood Harry. She didn't really care about bloody Hermione. Part of Hermione knew that she was being unfair to Ginny, but she couldn't help it. Ginny's life was seeming to perfect, and Hermione's was such a wreck.

_Listen to her – 'I can actually afford them now!' Well, guess what, Gin? **I **can't!_

Sighing and trying to get a hold of her emotions, she pulled the Daily Prophet towards herself and flipped to the classified section, searching for jobs. She might as well start at once – she needed the cash. She perused for a while, until one caught her eye: _Healers needed at St. Mungo's._

She stared, her vision becoming blurry with tears again. Since her sixth year, she'd dreamed of becoming a Healer. She's passed her N.E.W.T.'s with flying colors; she'd aced the prerequisite exams she'd need to enter her training. But she'd been rejected, anyway.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are deeply regretful to inform you that we cannot accept you into our Training Program for Healers. Certain circumstances prevent our taking you on; we offer our regrets and wish you luck in whatever profession you decide to take on._

_Sincerely,_

The St. Mungo's Board for Trainees 

Hermione rubbed her eyes. That had been ages ago, and she'd ceased crying over it. Turning the page of the classified section, something else caught her eye.

_MCC: Medical Charms Corps._

_We need you desperately! Jobs Available of All Sorts!_

_Will Hire All, So Long as All Applicants are Qualified!_

_Apply to D.M._

Hermione went on to read the list of requirement, and smiled when she realized she met all of them. It said nothing about family history of any sort, at the end, in tiny notations, just below the address of the building, were the following words: _Trainee Program: Learn to become a real Healer while on the job! We accept all._

Hermione's heart soared. Perhaps there was still a chance…

X-X-X-X-X

A/N: Well, there it is! I hope people like it; it was just an idea I had. No worries, I'll still be continuing my MWPP fic, and if you haven't checked it out, go read it, it's my pride and joy! (Okay, not really, but I worked hard on it, so if you have time, go take a look!) Reviews are really appreciated! Peaches


	2. My New Boss

Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Hermione Granger had always been the brightest of the bright; the best of the best. A previous Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione had aspirations to become a Healer – the best there ever was. But things didn't turn out the way she wanted them to. Hermione becomes the "odd one out" of the magical world, solely because of her non-magical heritage. Now, Hermione, aged 22, is poor and desperate. After being kicked out of her job at the Goblin Liaison Office and getting thoroughly pissed, Hermione searches the classified section of the Daily Prophet for a new job. She finds one, but it isn't quite what she expected… Particularly when she finds out that her boss is her old school tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Now, Hermione has to work on projects that become increasingly difficult, deal with how her friends finally seem interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have **_what it takes_**to make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione shrugged into the serviceable black robes that bore the crest of MCC. Underneath it, she wore faded jeans and an old Puddlemere United t-shirt that Harry had given her for Christmas when they were eighteen. It was well worn and a bit ratty, but it reminded her of her old friends, and she'd need that on her first day.

When Hermione first entered MCC, Malfoy was waiting for her, amused. "I'm taking you to your lab. Follow me."

Wordlessly, she obeyed, following him to the third floor. The 'lab' was more of a miniature library, minus the comfy chairs and plush carpet. Bookshelves covered every wall, and each bookshelf was packed with books. "This is your work room," said Malfoy coolly. "You may open the curtains and windows if you wish. Try not to make too much noise, and keep it clean. You'll have to clean up after yourself."

"What do you want me to do first?"

"Here." He yanked a book off the shelf and thumped it on the table before Hermione. Hermione glanced at it: Panacea. She flipped to the inside, and read the words written beneath the title: _A Compilation of the Studies of Helga Hufflepuff._ She raised her eyebrows, and glanced at Malfoy, who continued in a professional tone.

"Give me your hand."

"Beg pardon?"

Impatiently, he repeated, "Give me your hand."

"Why?"

Without answering, he seized her hand, pointed his wand at her hand, and hissed something. Immediately, a flame sprouted from the tip and Hermione squealed, struggling against Malfoy's hold. She eventually ripped herself free, but not before her hand was badly burned. "OW! You stupid bast-"

"Don't insult your employer, Granger," said Malfoy with a smirk. He pulled a tiny jar and a handkerchief from his pocket. Using two fingers, he lathered the orange paste over her hand (it stung, quite painfully) and then tied the handkerchief around her hand, his own hand lingering on the knot for a few moments before he withdrew. "There."

"What the hell was that for?" snapped Hermione savagely. "How dare you-"

"I was trying to make a point," he said calmly.

"Oh, _really?" _Hermione's voice was now a sarcastic drawl. "And pray tell, _what _point were you trying to make?"

His grin was wry. "Wizards can heal hangovers, broken bones in a moment, but there is no better way to heal a burn than that." He pointed to her hand, which was still stinging. Hermione chewed her lip to keep from crying – the paste stung almost more than the actual burn did. _Almost._

"What's your point, Malfoy?"

"My _point _is that I want you to do some cross-referencing – starting with that book," he added, pointing to the one he'd given her, "-and search for a more efficient cure. That takes about a week to heal." Hermione's mouth popped open in outrage, but he wasn't finished. "I want something that works faster and doesn't sting, so we can market it – mainly to dragon camps in Romania. Right now, this project is being funded by one. This is your first assignment, so I hope for your sake that you do well. Anything you need – potion ingredients, whatever – should be in _there_." He pointed to a door off to the side. "That's a storage room – it's got a few extra cauldron, all the common ingredients, and some rare ones. Anything you need, you ask me – I'll let you know if you're spending too much." He smirked. "We _are _on a budget. And good luck, by the way." His eyebrows rose. "Understand what I want you to do?"

"Sure thing."

"Over _there,_" he said, pointing to a box on the desk by the window, "is your post box. Your owl will bring you notices from me, along with new assignments. Oh," he added, whistling. A pygmy owl sailed through the air and settled on his shoulder. "This is Calliope." He held up his arm; the owl hopped onto it (_Where did those arm guards come from? I swear he wasn't wearing them **before**…) _and held the small owl out to Hermione. She stared at it. "It's yours, Granger," he said impatiently. "Unless you already have one?"

"What? I – er – no. No, I don't."

"Didn't think so. Happy Christmas," he added sarcastically. Calliope clambered onto Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione smiled faintly. "It's the middle of July."

"Fine. Happy Christmas in July. Whatever. Over there are some crates with things in them that you might fine useful." He pointed, and then shot her an impatient look. "Well? You've got your assignment! Get to work!" He stared to leave.

"Hey Malfoy?" He stopped, but didn't turn. "Thanks."

"…Whatever." And he was gone.

X-X-X-X-X

When at last Hermione returned home, it was late: almost eleven o'clock. But she felt better and more prepared for her second day of work.

Hermione dumped the box of things on her living room floor. She'd brought some of the things Malfoy had given her home: some _lime green _goggles and a _fuchsia_ lab coat. And, for some reason, a _turquoise and magenta striped umbrella_. She had no idea why he'd given it to her, but she'd found it in the boxes and assumed it was hers.

A purring noise reached her ears – Hermione turned and saw her cat, Crookshanks, approaching her, meowing loudly. "Hello, Crookshanks. This is Calliope. Malfoy gave her to me." That sounded so weird. _Malfoy **gave** it to me. Wow. Never thought I'd be saying **that**… oh, Ron would go insane if he found out I was working for Malfoy._

_…Not that he'd particularly care, or anything. Too busy with his own life, I suppose…_

Hermione sighed, and went to the cupboard, rummaging around until she found a box of Cheerios. Tiredly, she flopped onto her couch and reached her hand in, waving her wand at the radio. The Wireless turned on.

"…Potter racks up another win for Puddlemere United! Arguably the best seeker since Eunice Murray and Roderick Plumpton, rumors fly that the Hero of both the Wizarding World _and _the Bulrushes is engaged to the stylish Miss Virginia Weasley, who works for the Committee of Experimental Charms…"

"Ha! Harry and Ginny engaged? Not bloody likely… Ginny would have written to gloat about it by now…" Hermione instantly felt bad. She adored Ginny like a sister and Harry like a brother, and was genuinely happy for the both of them, but she often felt like her upscale friends were leaving her behind, as if she was one of those 'Well, it's been fun, but you're just not good enough' people.

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her folded notes, scanning them. The book Malfoy had told her to read was actually quite fascinating, and Hermione would have _liked _to bring it home for some extra reading, but he probably would have accused her of theft, and that was the _last _thing she needed.

"Hmm… let's see… _Celeritas Charm… combine with Crematus Saluber Potion… ask Malfoy for ingredients…_" Hermione sighed, folded her notes up, and replaced them in her bag, tuning into the Wireless again.

"…Miss Weasley, seen with a brunet young man, who is rumored to be her illicit lover…"

"'Brunet young man'? Probably Neville," mused Hermione aloud, thinking of how Ginny was working to 'heal' his parents. "Poor guy. But Harry probably had the sense to see through _those _rumors… I hope," she added.

"Are you joking? Potter's an idiot. Now, _my _bet is that he and Weasel have an almighty row in the middle of some crowded place – preferably in the middle of one of his Quidditch matches, or in Diagon Alley – and she slaps him, he accuses her of being a slut, and they go off their respective ways. The next day, there are photos in the tabloid of Potter shagging the _other _Weasel – you know, Ron – because both have turned gay over night. Then the _female _Weasel decides that-"

Hermione had nearly fallen off of her couch at his voice. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" she snapped at the wildly smirking Draco Malfoy, who was leaning against the doorway.

"What, Potter becoming gay? You're right. He's self-absorbed enough that he'd probably look in the mirror and fall in love with himself."

"Coming from you, that's rather rich."

"It's the whole being the 'Hero of the Wizarding World,' thing," continued Malfoy, quite in his element. "I don't know _why _he'd fall in love with himself, he looks so scrawny and underfed, and-"

"What, you've spent time watching him? I didn't know you have a thing for other men like that." She pursed her lips. "Must be the whole bitter enemies thing. Oh, well, it's your life." For once, Malfoy seemed momentarily speechless, and Hermione patted herself on the back. "It's probably his fame that you're attracted to," she mused teasingly.

"Yeah, well – at least _I'm_ rich and blond!"

"All right, I'll admit that you've got the whole 'rich' thing going for you, but seriously, blond? I doubt that has anything to do with it." She cocked her head. "Besides, that whole platinum blond thing is a bit suspicious. Are you sure that you and your family don't go off dying your hair? I mean, seriously, who has _platinum _blond hair?"

Malfoy looked affronted. "I would never dye my hair. And anyway, I happen to think my platinum blond hair is extremely sexy. Don't you?"

"Not at all." Hermione fought to keep her mouth from twitching into a smile.

"And anyway, _veela _have platinum blond hair."

_Fair point, _thought Hermione. "Are you a veela?"

"Not exactly, no…"

"Then why do you have platinum blond hair?"

"My ancestors were veela!"

"So can you turn into a vicious bird when you get angry?"

"Bloody hell, Granger, if I could turn into a vicious bird when I was angry, I'd be a vicious bird _right now._" His eyes widened. "This wasn't what I came in here to say at all."

"Which brings up an interesting question. How exactly _did _you get in here?"

"I told your landlady that I was your boyfriend and you had left your bra at my place." Hermione choked on her Cheerios, and Malfoy grinned. "Anyway, I came to see how you've been doing. You'd left by the time I got out of my meeting."

"Oh, it's fascinating – I've got some really good ideas, and-"

"That's great," he said casually, cutting her off as he lit a cigarette. "We can have a working lunch tomorrow to discuss what you'll need to begin your experiments. The Dragon Camp will cover the expenses, of course." He cast an unimpressed eye around her flat. "This is the most bloody boring thing I've ever been in."

"Yes. I call it _Chic Poor._"

"Chic Poor? For God's sake, Granger, I thought even _you _could do better than that." Hermione made a face at him, but she once again fought to keep herself from smiling.

At long last, a tiny smile burst forth, and Malfoy smirked in response. "I don't find you very funny," she told him, despite her smile.

"That's too bad. So many other witches do." He sighed theatrically. "Pity, really. I came here in hopes of a good time, and instead I got shot down… rejected… denied… rebuffed… decli-"

"For heaven's sake, Malfoy! What do you want?" All traces of a smile were gone.

"I wanted to ask you to lunch." She glowered. "To discuss the expenses of your coming experiments," he clarified. "What do you say?"

"You're my boss." She hated saying that. "I don't think I have a choice."

"You're right; you don't. Anyway, it would do you some good. You know, being a Mudblood and all…" Hermione scowled. "…Being seen with a respected pureblood… might help you get a job when I eventually fire you."

"That's a very optimistic outlook for the future."

"For me, it is." He smirked, and took her hand, bending low to kiss it mockingly. Hermione yanked her hand back, her cheeks flaming. "Two o'clock, in the Whirling Dervish. Dress nicely, please. And I still expect you to clock in at eight and get on with your research." He left, shutting the door behind him.

Hermione rubbed her eyes, and then a thought came to her. "I hope he didn't _really _tell Mrs. Jones that I left my bra over at his place…"

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "Is Mr. Malfoy here yet?" she asked a passing waiter nervously.

"No, Miss, not yet." He had a kind smile. "A friend of yours?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say no, but what came out instead was, "In a manner of speaking."

He smiled. "You're a lucky lady. Many would give quite a few galleons to have lunch with Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn't worry, if I were you. He's usually half an hour late."

_Oh, whoopee. Another ten minutes of waiting around, with all these prissy rich wizards and witches staring at me like I'm some sort of-_

"Are you his special lady friend, Miss?"

Hermione nearly knocked over her goblet of water. "I – er – no! No, no, no. No, I'm not. I'm just his… er…"

"Thank you, Antoine, that will do." The waiter bowed to Malfoy and left. Malfoy smirked. "It's rather unbecoming to flirt with the waiters in such a public, _upscale _place. You've never been to the Whirling Dervish?"

"Can't say that I have."

"That figures." He slid into a seat across from her, expertly shaking his napkin twice and laying it in his lap. "All right, Granger, what've you got for me?"

"Well, I thought about combining a Celeritas Charm with the Crematus Saluber Cream. That's the obvious thing to do, of course, so I doubt it will work, else others would have tried and discovered it before. Nonetheless, it sounded like a good starting point."

"Anything else?"

"In the book you gave me – Panacea – there are some rather interesting diary entries of Helga Hufflepuff, who was a renowned Healer of her tim-"

"Granger, I know all this."

Hermione made a face, and continued, ignoring his comment. "There was mention of the time that one of her estates in Scotland was ravaged by a fire. Many perished in the flames, but there were several who survived, and she used a particular potion to treat the burns on some of the burned victims. It was called the 'Ignis Geluque' Potion. That roughly translates to Fire and Ice, and I thought… Well, anyway, it's a very difficult potion – the recipe has been lost over time, because it's too pricey to make, generally, but maybe if I find the original recipe and tweak it by using cheaper ingredients, it might be better than what we already have, but the problem is _finding _the recipe – but I figured that a lot of research combined with some luck might get some results so…" Hermione paused to glower at Malfoy, who was pretending to snore. She seized a roll and chucked it at him. It bonked his nose and landed in his lap. Malfoy stared at it, and then at her. "At least pretend to listen to me," she snapped, looking injured.

Malfoy bit into the roll thoughtfully. "These are good," he said, after swallowing. He took another bite. Then he offered the already half-eaten roll to her. "Want a bite?"

Hermione was torn between looking annoyed, disgusted, and amused all at once. She pushed his hand aside. "No thanks."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." And then he proceeded to stuff the rest of it into his mouth. Hermione watched him reach for another roll.

"Tell me," she said finally, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Did you listen to a _word _I said?"

"Yes. Scotland was ravaged by a fire. I got that far, and got bored." Hermione sighed. "Well, come on. Don't tell me that Weasley and Potter never got bored, with you handing out useless information all the time."

"It's not useless!" she snapped in response.

"I notice that you don't deny that they got bored."

"Ugh! Malfoy, be serious!"

"I _am _being serious. I'm being _perfectly _serious. See? No smile or anything." He crossed his arms and smirked. "Serious."

"You're smirking."

"Yes, but one can smirk and be serious, if they know how to do it correctly."

"Oh _really?"_

"Yes, _really._" He smirked again. "I could teach you, if you like."

"Could you stand to be seen with a Mudblood?" she asked scathingly.

"I'm being seen with one _now, _aren't I?"

"Hermione? Oh my gosh, _Hermione? _Is that _you?"_

"No," said Malfoy moodily. "It's the _other _Mudblood named Hermione."

Parvati squealed and threw her arms around Hermione, half-strangling the other woman. "Oh my gosh, it's been so _long! _How've you been? What're you up to? Are you dating any… gracious. You're here with Malfoy."

"Good observation, Patil," sneered Malfoy.

"But it's… Malfoy."

"I think we've established that," interrupted Malfoy loudly, before Hermione could say anything. "And we're doing something, so if you don't mind…"

Parvati had taken a seat. Hermione bit her lip, trying not to smile at the sour look on Malfoy's face.

"Patil, this is a private conversation," said Malfoy, but she was ignoring him.

"So, are you dating him? I don't know why you would. I mean, I suppose he's good-looking and all," she glanced at Malfoy hear, and his face brightened, "but really, other than that, he's got very little going for him." The smile dropped off of his face at that. "Well, I suppose he's rich, too, isn't he? But he's got the personality of a… er… a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I don't know _how _you can stand him."

"_Excuse _me," said Malfoy loudly. "I'm sitting _right here. _There's no need to talk about me as though I'm not."

She continued ignoring him. "I heard you quit your job at the Ministry. Whatever for? Well, I guess if you're dating Malfoy, you don't really _need _money…"

"_Parvati,_" said Hermione loudly. "I. Am. Not. Dating. Bloody. Malfoy!"

"Thank God," said Malfoy. "I'd die if you did."

Hermione glowered at him, and turned back to Parvati. "I _work _for him," she explained, but moments later, she regretted it.

"Oh, I see," said Parvati, nodding her head sagely. "It's one of _those _relationships."

Hermione gave her a very strange look, and then it clicked and she sputtered. "I – What!? No! No, of course not! You thought that he and I-!? I mean, Malfoy and – I mean – no, just _no._"

"I'll have you know that there's nothing wrong with that sort of relationship," said Malfoy, in an injured tone. Both women proceeded to ignore him (something he wasn't quite used to).

"Then what sort of relationship _do _you have?"

"We _don't! _I'm just – he's my employer. At Magical Medical Charms, Inc.!"

"It's Medical Charms Corporation," corrected Malfoy sternly. "Honestly, Granger. How stupid _are _you? MCC, not MMCI!"

He was still ignored. "Oh…" said Parvati, now understanding. "I feel bad for you, then," she said decidedly. "That must suck."

"Believe me, it does." Hermione cleared her throat. "It was lovely speaking to you, Parvati," she said, smiling. "But I've really got to finish this – we're discussing my budget for my project. Maybe I can owl you and we can get together sometime?" suggested Hermione, having no intention of doing any sort of thing.

"Yes, that sounds like fun," agreed Parvati, getting up from her chair. "I'll wait for it." She waved. "Bye, Hermione!"

Hermione smiled and waved, and then turned to Malfoy, who was scowling. "Now, where were we?" she asked sweetly.

He made a face. "Forget it. I can't even remember what I wanted to discuss."

"My budget."

"Yes, that. I'm not quite willing to let you go off buying whatever you want for this potion nonsense of yours-"

"Hah! You _were _listening to me!"

Malfoy ignored this, continuing, "-So I'm going to have a trusted advisor go with you tomorrow. Show up at your office at nine o'clock tomorrow – I'm giving you an extra hour to sleep in, be grateful – and I'll have somebody escort you about Diagon Alley to get whatever you might need."

"All right."

Malfoy raised a hand and snapped his finger. "Oy, Antoine! How about some service, here?"

X-X-X-X-X

A/N: Wow. That took me so incredibly long to type up and post, didn't it? That's because I had to rewrite it a dozen times… literally. I kept finding stuff I didn't like, wanting to tweak things. I'm still not fully satisfied with this, but… oh, well. There it is. I also redid the summary in the first chapter (which is also at the top of this chapter) and I – dun-dun-dun! – Gave the landlady a name! Mrs. Jones. Yeah. That's about it… I hope you like.

If you're a fan of MWPP, go read my other fic – a Marauder's Girl. It's my main project, and I'm really proud of it, so… yeah.

XOXO

Peaches


	3. A Safe Place to Return To

Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Hermione Granger had always been the brightest of the bright; the best of the best. A previous Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione had aspirations to become a Healer – the best there ever was. But things didn't turn out the way she wanted them to. Hermione becomes the "odd one out" of the magical world, solely because of her non-magical heritage. Now, Hermione, aged 22, is poor and desperate. After being kicked out of her job at the Goblin Liaison Office and getting thoroughly pissed, Hermione searches the classified section of the Daily Prophet for a new job. She finds one, but it isn't quite what she expected… Particularly when she finds out that her boss is her old school tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Now, Hermione has to work on projects that become increasingly difficult, deal with how her friends finally seem interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have **_what it takes_**to make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione hummed to herself as she pulled on a pair of faded jeans the next morning. She'd spent the rest of yesterday (after her lunch with Malfoy) researching, and had brought some books home (with his permission) and worked well into the night. True, she had shadows under her eyes and her hair could have done with a cutting, but Hermione didn't care. She had a job that would – hopefully – remain steady, and she was actually going _shopping. _True, it would be for potions ingredients, but it was certainly better than working in the Goblin Liaison Office. Shrugging into her black robes, Hermione apparated from her flat, straight to MCC.

To her surprise, Malfoy met her in the lobby, scowling. "What's the matter with you?" Hermione asked cheerfully. With things looking up for her already, she was feeling much better.

"Your 'escort' had to _cancel _on me. Which means I have to go."

"Oh." Hermione was rapidly deflating. She blinked. "Well, that can't be _that _bad, can it?" she asked slowly.

He gave her an annoyed look. "Give me a break, Granger! I don't want to be seen with _you!"_

"You were, yesterday at lunch."

"That was _different! _You were my employee, then! This makes it look like we're – I dunno, _dating, _or something, which is definitely not-"

"We'll just have to correct any mistaken ideas, then won't we?" Then, to his shock (and irritation) she linked her arm with his and began dragging him towards the door.

"Hey!" he yelled, loudly enough that the people in the lobby turned and stared. "If we have to go together, only one of us can be the leader, and that one has to be _me!"_

X-X-X-X-X

Malfoy drummed his fingers against countertop as Hermione browsed the rare ingredients' shelves of Cetearyl's Apothecary. "She's not my girlfriend," he told the girl behind the counter. She glanced up from her magazine – Witch Weekly, Malfoy noted with a grimace – and nodded in disinterest. "Really, she's not," he insisted. "She works for me. At Medical Charm Corporation. Heard of us?" The witch wasn't listening to him – she turned a page, and Malfoy saw, with some disgust, that a very startled looking picture of Harry Potter, leaving a locker room with a towel wrapped around his waist, was taking up two pages. "How can you _read _that trash?"

"It's not trash!" she said shrilly. "Look at this! _LOOK _at this! You can't just get footage like this of Harry Potter _anywhere, _you know!"

"Why would you _want _a picture of a speccy git almost in the nude, anyway?"

She gave him a huffy look and stormed off to the other end of the counter, still reading her magazine, occasionally shooting him disgruntled looks. Hermione came up behind him, her arms laden with bottles and packets. "What's up with her?" she asked, catching sight of the girl.

"Forget it. How much does all this cost?"

"About seventy galleons total."

"SEVENTY!?"

"Well, they're _rare! _What did you expect, anyway?"

He grabbed a jar from her arms and stared at it. "'Ashwinder Eggs'?" he read off the label incredulously. "This stuff is like fifteen galleons a pound!"

"Well, it's an absolutely vital element to the potion," snapped Hermione. "You told me to let you know what I needed, and I need _that._"

"Can't you replace it with something else?"

"No!" _At least, not without around seventy more hours of intensive research…_

"Why the hell not?" he snapped.

"Because I need to do thorough research to figure out what I can replace it with, that's why!" she snapped back at him.

"Lobalug Poison?" he demanded, inspecting the vials and jars that she placed on the counter. "What the hell, Granger? Are you trying to render me poor?"

Hermione slammed a vial down on the counter. "Listen, Malfoy," she said tightly. "I need access to very nearly _every _single ingredient possible. And for your information, Lobalug poison is my substitute for Basilisk venom, which you could only find in Knockturn Alley at exorbitant prices! I _told _you that I wanted to make a potion that could be manufactured more easily, and as it just so happens, Basilisk venom is _not _all that easy to get!"

"And what happens if your bloody Lobalug poison doesn't work, eh?" he snarled savagely.

"Then I'm going to bloody drag you down to Knockturn Alley to find Basilisk venom every week so that we can stock your bloody pharmacy, that's what!" she yelled at him.

"Draco, what _are _you doing?" asked a simpering voice. A pair of arms slid around Malfoy's waist, and he whirled to face Pansy Parkinson. A strained smile lit his face.

"Hey, Pans, not now, eh? I'm trying to deal with an annoying little thorn in my arse." Hermione made a huffing noise, and he turned back to her with a cold expression. "I am _not _buying all this stuff, Granger."

"Then you're not going to get any potion, either!"

"_Draco,_" whined Pansy loudly. "Why are you here with the _Mudblood?"_

Hermione's hands clenched into fists. "Look, Pansy, I'll talk to you another time," said Malfoy. He _definitely _sounded annoyed, now.

"But Draco-"

He silenced her with a kiss. Pansy's fingers entwined themselves in his hair. Hermione glanced away for a few minutes, but when neither made any motion to stop, she cleared her throat very loudly. They ignored her. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" she snapped. "Get a room, you two!" They stopped and glowered at her. Hermione scowled at Malfoy. "I have bloody _research _to do, you know. For you, I might add."

Looking irritated, Malfoy shoved a bag into her hands. "There. A hundred galleons. Seventy on this shit, and thirty more for whatever the hell you want. Go squander it all on hideous dress robes if you want. I don't care. Just go away." Scowling, Hermione pushed them out of her way, paid the girl at the counter, and stomped out the door.

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione pushed her hair from her face, aware that it was once more becoming frizzy. _Well, I've got thirty new galleons that I have not yet spent. I was going to save it up, but maybe I'll go buy some Potion… _She snorted. _Or better yet, maybe I'll invent a better one…_

Hermione surveyed the table before her. It was filled with parchments – the potions ingredients lay in several large shopping bags nearby – that held all of her notes from the past few days. Surprisingly, she hadn't seen Malfoy since the episode in Cetearyl's Apothecary, which was not something she was at all sad about.

Hermione rubbed her eyes. She'd been working for quite a long time, and had yet to yield more results past the necessity of ground-up Ashwinder eggs, Basilisk venom that could hopefully be replaced with Lobalug poison, or one of the other five poisons she'd bought. She had already determined that she'd very carefully have to make a perfect recreation of the potion Helga Hufflepuff used – in a small quantity, so that it was less expensive – and then research all the possible ways to "tweak" it so that it was cheaper and easier to manufacture.

Sighing, Hermione looked at the notes that she'd carefully scripted out in the last few hours. "Well, that rules out doxy venom," she said tiredly, crossing it off the list. Thankfully, she hadn't bought any – if she needed some, she'd ask one of the Weasley Twins. They were bound to have some stores. It occurred to Hermione that asking the Twins for ideas would be a very sensible idea, actually…

"What does?" Hermione looked up; Malfoy was lounging in her doorway again. _Thankfully, we're not at my apartment, so he doesn't need to make up some ridiculous excuse for Mrs. Jones, _thought Hermione, her cheeks flaming.

"Doxy venom. It's not powerful enough to be in the potion."

"What have you got, so far?"

"Ground-up Ashwinder eggs and Basilisk venom." Malfoy stared; she sighed. "Sorry, but I can't do any better. I'm working on it."

He moved into the room, and took out his wand, drawing up a squishy armchair which he at once occupied. Hermione, who had either stood or sat on an uncomfortable wooden stool all day, watched enviously. "Look, Granger, I wanted to check up on how you're doing, but I also wanted to talk to you." He shifted a bit uncomfortably; Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "To clarify bout what happened in the apothecary," he added.

Hermione very much wished she had a chair to sit in, so she could lean back and survey him, as if she didn't care. But she didn't, so she settled with clearing a space on her table and propping her chin up in her right hand. "Okay. Go ahead, clarify away."

"Pansy and I had an arranged marriage," he said, without preamble. "When our fathers were imprisoned after the Dark Lord's defeat, it sort of… evaporated. At least, it did as far as I'm concerned. She's still rich; I'm still rich. She still wants to marry, but… well, let's say the feeling's not mutual."

"It isn't?" Hermione's voice was scathing.

"Well, come on. I haven't exactly got any other prospects, you know. All the other girls from Slytherin give way to Pansy, which sort of puts me at a disadvantage." He grinned. "No matter _how _much they all want me, they won't touch me, even if I pursue them, because Pansy will kill them. So I figure I may as well go along with it."

"Believe it or not, Malfoy, marriage is _not _restricted to house."

"What, inter-house marrying? Give me a break, Granger; it's just not done."

"That's ridiculous! Look at Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater!"

"All right, fine. I concede that _they're _from different houses… but seriously, Granger, it's not like Weasley could get anybody _else._"

"That's a horrible thing to say!" said Hermione angrily, and shooting him a deeply disgusted look, she returned to her parchment. "Anyway," she continued furiously, without looking up from where she was pretending to take notes but was actually writing _I hate Draco Malfoy_, "it's not like you have to explain yourself to me. I personally don't care about you and Pansy, so I don't see why you'd want to 'clarify' what happened in the apothecary. Because I don't care."

"Don't you?" Malfoy's voice was soft; he'd moved closer. She could almost feel his breath on her ear.

"No, I don't," she snapped, her head jerking up – she found herself staring into his gray eyes, which were about an inch away from her own. She scowled. "You're invading my personal space," she told him, in the driest tone she could manage.

He sighed. "Granger, you truly are hopeless." He pulled back. "Did you know you have freckles across your nose? Because I never noticed that."

Hermione ignored his comment. "If you have nothing else to say, it would be helpful if you left," she told him, her tone icy. "I have a lot of work to do."

"Yes, I know," said Malfoy, with a smirk. "I'm your boss, aren't I?" Hermione ignored him, checking something in a book. "You do realize, of course, that's it's just past midnight."

"I know that."

"So why are you still here? Your day is officially over at six o'clock, you know. Come to think of it," he added slowly, "have you ever punched out before eleven?"

"No. For the past two days, I've been here until twelve."

"Well, it's past twelve now."

"Didn't I just tell you that I already knew that?"

"I don't pay you overtime, you know."

"I really don't care."

"So _why _are you still here?"

"Because I have work to do!"

"All right, well, we all have work to do. That doesn't explain why you extend your work hours about six hours over."

She finally looked up and glared at him again. "Malfoy, you're hindering my progress. I am here working as long as I feel is necessary because I want to get this _done._ I have no interest in making your company any richer than it is," she continued at his disbelieving look. "I want to help the Wizarding World." Taking a deep breath, she added, "It was the reason I wanted to be a Healer in the first place."

He gave her a puzzled look. "I never knew that."

"Malfoy, you never knew _me._" She looked away. "You still don't."

"Our ad did say that we'd train you to be a licensed Healer," he began slowly. Then it dawned. "No _wonder _you applied for the job."

"I needed a job anyway," pointed out Hermione quietly. But they both knew he was right. "Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I can't be a Healer."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "The ad wasn't lying. We can train you to-"

"Do you honestly think that I would have waited this long to apply for a training program to become a Healer, if I really wanted to be one? And, don't you think I would have applied at St. Mungo's?"

She could hear him draw a breath. "They rejected you."

"Damn straight they did. Apparently, 'certain circumstances' was the problem." She shrugged. "I don't fit the bill because I'm Muggleborn. There's very little I can do to change that, I'm afraid. It stopped bothering me a long time ago."

"That's a lie."

Hermione didn't say anything. She flipped a couple of pages in the book, and then, without looking up, asked, "You know, this is a very good library, but it's not detailed enough for what I need. What I need is _old _manuscripts – I suppose the public library in Diagon Alley would service." She closed the book and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "What I _really _want, though, is the Hogwarts Library."

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes. I know school isn't in session, and is technically not open, but I figure that Professor D- I mean, Professor McGonagall would be all right with me doing a bit of research. I'd need _her _permission, since she's the Headmistress and all," added Hermione unnecessarily, more to herself than Malfoy. "And I could ask Snape for help, too. But I'd need you to give me the go-ahead." Malfoy was silent for a long time. "Malfoy?" She glanced up; he was watching her. His gaze was rather disconcerting, and she looked away first.

"You can go, if you need to. Would three days suffice?"

"Three, four maximum, I think. I could send Calliope if I needed more time, but I doubt I will." A ghost of a smile flickered across Hermione's face. "After all, it's only Hogwarts legend that I've read the entire library, isn't it?" Malfoy shrugged.

"All right, then. Keep me updated on how you do. I'll tell Anne – you know, the secretary in the lob-"

"I know who she is."

"Right, well, I'll tell her _not _to expect you, as you won't be coming in." He turned to leave, throwing over his shoulder, "Good luck."

"Thanks," she said. She looked across her table – strewn with crumpled up parchments, sheets of notes, and books. Slowly, very slowly, she began to clean up. If she were to travel to Hogwarts the next day, she'd need her sleep.

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione took a deep breath, and pushed the double doors open. "Ooh, we have an old student returning," said one of the gargoyles. "_That's _uncommon."

Ignoring them, Hermione stepped into the hall, pulling her old school trunk behind her. Calliope was settled on her shoulder; Crookshanks trotted by her feet. Snape was the first to find her, standing there, gazing around the familiar hall of Hogwarts with a slightly wistful look about her features. "Miss Granger," he began, in a rather indifferent tone. It seemed to snap her from her daydream, and she stared at him. "What brings you back to our halls of learning?"

"I needed to use the Hogwarts library," she explained quietly. "And I'd like to have a word with you. I was on my way to see Professor – well, Headmistress, I suppose – McGonagall, to ask her permission. I just wanted to stop, and… remember."

Snape nodded, hiding his confusion well. "I see. Well, as it turns out, the Headmistress it not here at the moment. She is at the Ministry of Magic." Hermione bit her lip.

"Might I speak with the Deputy Headmaster, then?"

"You already are."

Hermione's eyes widened a bit, but she did not comment. "I see. Would it be all right if-"

"Come to my office, Miss Granger, and we'll discuss this over a cup of tea." Hermione nodded, and began dragging her trunk. Snape gave her a scornful look. He took out his wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa." _Hermione flushed as Snape strode ahead of her, leading the way to his dungeon office.

X-X-X-X-X

"Thank you, Professor," murmured Hermione politely as a teacup was set before her. It then occurred to her that Snape was no longer her professor – in fact, she should not treat him as a superior, lest she be treated as an inferior. She would be on an equal status with this man. She sat up straighter.

"Now, then," said Snape, surveying her with a bit of distaste in his eyes. "I will ask again. What brings you to Hogwarts? Looking in the library is not an answer," he told her fiercely. "There are plenty of libraries elsewhere."

"I didn't want to go to the public library at Diagon Alley. It's always crowded."

"Bollocks." Hermione started; she was quite certain that she'd never heard _that _come from Snape's mouth. "The library is very nearly always empty. If people want books, they buy them. And if they _have _to go to a library, they go, check the book out, and leave. Nobody stays there for extensive research, as I imagine you would. Besides, if you were _that _desperate for solitude in a library – which I imagine you must be, if you've traveled all the way to Scotland to a school that you no longer attend, during the summer – you could have gone in the middle of the night. The library is constantly open, and judging by your appearance, you do not seem to have slept in quite a while."

Hermione's mouth opened a few times, and she said at last, "I didn't know all that about the library. And anyway, I wanted to come back to Hogwarts. It's familiar to me."

"And that's the only reason to come back?"

Hermione refused to look at him. "These walls have always welcomed me, been friendly to me. No matter what people said to me, I always could look around and think: _I'm at Hogwarts. I'm safe here._ I came in here, this morning, and I looked around. And you know what? I still think those things."

"You came here to feel safe." It was more of a statement than a question.

"That's right." Her voice was quiet. "Being a spy all those years… didn't you ever feel, that coming back to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore… didn't you ever find that it was safer than anything else?"

In a matter of moments, Snape was out of his chair, had rounded his desk, and had pulled his sleeve up. The Dark Mark was still there, an ugly, black reminder of who he'd been in the past. "Do you see this?" he asked her harshly. "This is the sort of thing that never goes away. When I returned to Hogwarts, I found a bed waiting to take me away to unconsciousness. That was the only time I was truly safe, Miss Granger. And even then, this could wake me up. It did not matter where I went. I could have gone to another continent, and it would still not matter. This mark could always reach me. Always." He sat down again. "I do not expect you to understand that. You have never born the Dark Mark, and you never will." He lifted his cup. "Consider yourself fortunate for that." And he took a sip of his tea.

Hermione looked at him now, directly into his eyes. "I didn't come here for a lecture, sir," she said, her voice soft. His eyebrows rose, almost imperceptibly. "I came here to use the library and ask for your help."

"Then ask for it, Miss Granger."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I work for Draco Malfoy now, at Medical Charms Corporation. I am in the process of researching the Ignis Geluque Potion." Snape's eyebrows shot straight up, this time, but he said nothing. "I needed a large library than I had, and I had hoped that you might have some ideas of your own."

"What have you discovered so far?" His tone was businesslike.

"Ground Ashwinder eggs and Basilisk venom. I've only been working for a few days, so far." Her voice was quiet.

"I may have some texts that would be helpful to you." Snape's voice was indifferent. "You may set up in my classroom, if you wish. I might be able to help you."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"I'll have a room set up for you in the guest wing. For now, leave your things here and go to the library. I will meet you there."

"Yes, sir." She left.

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione rubbed her eyes. Snape had not yet come to get her, although it'd been at least six or seven hours. Hermione didn't own a watch, and her eyes were far too tired to see what the clock said. Thus, she had no idea what time it was.

Predictably, Snape walked in at that moment, holding a very ancient-looking, very heavy book. He slammed it down on the table beside Hermione. Thankfully, Irma Pince, the hawkish librarian, was not there to be reproving. "Here," said Snape curtly. "Fire and Ice, by Blake Aldridge. It is traditionally an old book on Battle Magic – 12th Century, I believe – but it does have some Restorative Spells and Potions within. The words 'fire and ice,' as you can expect, come up many times, and thus I have not performed a thorough search of this book." His eyes were stern. "Be careful with this. There are very few copies left in the world, and none of them exist in Diagon Alley – you'd have to venture into Knockturn Alley to find a copy, and even then, you'd have to be a Malfoy or a Black to afford it." He sneered. "I've placed a translation charm on it so that it would be in modern-day English, rather than old. You need not thank me."

A tiny smile crept onto Hermione's face. "Thank you, sir." He harrumphed, and strode out. "I will see what I can find amongst my own store cupboard that may help in your search." And he was gone.

Sighing, Hermione pulled the book towards her, and checked the back – no index. The book was not a spell book, however – it was a history book, and thus each new chapter was a new chapter in history. Hermione sighed. She'd have to scan the book, page by page.

X-X-X-X-X

Three days later, Hermione was not even a third through the book. And still, she'd found close to nothing, and neither had Snape. Or if he had, he hadn't sought her out and told her. With a sigh, Hermione ripped the corner off of one of her parchment and scribbled:

_Malfoy–_

_I'm not getting very far with the search, but Professor Snape has found a book that he thinks might help. I'm writing to warn you that I'll be two days late – there are a few more things I want to get done, and then I'll just see if I can get back by then._

_-Hermione_

She sent it off with Calliope, and was about to peruse the book again, before a thought occurred to her. She'd done nothing but read this blasted book since she'd got to Hogwarts, and Hermione found that the reason for this was so that she could stay longer. After all, even if she finished the book, there were millions more in the Hogwarts library. She wanted to stay at Hogwarts, where it was nice and comfortable. When McGonagall had arrived back from the Ministry the day after Hermione had come, she'd assigned a house-elf to Hermione, so that she never had to leave the library but to sleep and shower. Seeing as Madam Pince wasn't there, McGonagall had graciously allowed her to eat in the library.

"The best of luck in your research, Hermione," she'd said with a warm smile. "And I'm so glad you've finally found something you enjoy doing. Let me know if I can help in any way."

Hermione sighed, and closed the book carefully. This was getting her nowhere, and like it or not, she _did _have to go back to London at some point. Gently tucking the book into her old school bag, Hermione quietly headed towards the Potions dungeon.

"Sir?" she asked timidly, so softly that nobody could hear unless listening carefully, as she pushed the door open. To her amazement, four tiny cauldrons were set up, and Professor Snape was pouring a bit of blue liquid from a vial into the one furthest from her. From what she could see, the brew turned orange and began to emit noxious fumes. Coughing, Snape hissed, "_Evanesco!" _and it disappeared. He wrote something on some parchment attached to a clipboard, and then Hermione cleared her throat loudly and he looked up.

"Miss Granger. I was wondering when I'd be seeing you. You have to return to London, yes?"

"I told Malfoy to give it two more days."

"Have you found anything?"

"Not yet. Professor…"

"Take it."

Hermione stopped where she was, her mouth halfway open. "I beg your pardon?" she said at last.

"The book. Fire and Ice. Take it. That's what you came to ask me, isn't it?" Hermione gaped at him like a fish, her mouth all the way open now. "Stop gaping like an unattractive fish," said Snape scathingly. "You came here, to ask me if you could take the book back to London so that you might actually _search _the Hogwarts library rather than simply sitting there and reading it. The answer is yes. You may take it. But be careful with it," he added in a warning tone. "I've already told you, it's an old and ancient book."

"I… er… thank you, sir."

He nodded. "I've discovered very little, but for the fact that the potion you are searching for must be blue. A pale blue, almost white." He glowered at the now-empty cauldron. "My first attempt was black, and now I have orange. I'm nowhere closer than I was before."

"Thank you, sir."

"You've already said that, Miss Granger."

"No… _thank you_. For helping me. You didn't have to."

"You asked me to, didn't you?"

"Yes, but you could have said no."

Snape turned to her. "Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I do have some respect for you – grudging, but it is there – and I do realize that you are doing thing to help wizardkind, not to make money. I admire that."

"Thank you," she said again, and then added, "Although the money is an added bonus. Sir, I feel I should pay you for your-"

"Miss Granger, this is what I _enjoy._" He gestured to the steaming cauldrons around him. "That is payment enough. I suggest you return to the library and continue your search."

Hermione nodded and left again.

X-X-X-X-X

Two days later, Hermione stopped on the front steps of Hogwarts, hand at ready to shut the door, when a voice called after her. "Miss Granger!" Professor Snape caught up with her, not looking remotely out of breath, despite his run. He pressed a package into her hands. "This may prove useful. It's an account of what I did during the past five days."

"Oh – thank you, Professor."

The smile he gave her was wry; Hermione started. She didn't think that she'd _ever _seen him smile! "I doubt it will aid you in your research of what ingredients are necessary, but it may tell you what _not _to use."

"Thank you, Professor." Impulsively, she hugged him. He stiffened, and Hermione quickly pulled away, ignoring the bright red splotches that appeared in his cheeks. "Thanks again!" She quickly levitated her trunk off, before she could embarrass herself further.

It took Hermione almost three hours to return to London, outside the Leaky Cauldron. When at last she did, and had entered the tiny pub – which was full, as it was lunch hour – she heard a rustling noise and a soft mewing. Frowning, Hermione looked down at her satchel. It was partially opened – surely she hadn't left it like that?

Hermione took a seat and opened the bag, and saw, to her shock, a mass of something that was furry and black. An ear popped up, then another, followed by a tail with a pair of bright yellow eyes. Hermione _stared. _"Where the bloody hell did you come from?"

"Meow."

"Hullo, Hermione, can I get you something?" Hermione turned and stared up at the kindly barkeeper, Tom. "New pet, eh?"

"Er… you might say that, I suppose…"

"Can I get you something?"

"I… er… a glass of pumpkin juice would be nice."

He gave her a kindly smile. "No alcohol?"

Hermione made a face. "I've had my fill of that, thanks." He laughed, and hobbled off. Hermione shook her head, and returned to her immediate problem. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Meow."

Hermione barely managed to stifle a giggle and she stroked the kitten's fluffy head. "I'll bet Crookshanks won't like having another cat about – well, we'll see. If worst comes to worst, maybe Ginny will take you. Or Ron." She paused. "No, Ron hates cats. Maybe Harry…?" She had a mental image, suddenly, of this cat sauntering out onto the Quidditch pitch and mewing plaintively. "Erk! No, not Harry. Well, don't you worry. We'll find somebody…"

By the time Hermione stood outside her flat, she'd discovered that her new pet was female and named her, for lack of a better name, Hecate. With a sigh, she opened her flat and let the kitten jump from her arms. Her bandy-legged cat, Crookshanks, entered the living room and meowed indignantly at the sight of another cat. "Don't worry, Crookshanks," Hermione said soothingly, and flopped on her threadbare couch. "No one will ever replace you in my heart." Raising her wand, she turned on the Wireless to a song by some ridiculous boy band with very little talent but who were – at least, according to Ginny, who'd attended their concert (with backstage passes, no less) – very cute. As they warbled off their latest hit – "You're Eyes Are Like Blueberry Jelly Beans" – Hermione closed her eyes. A mewing sound reached her ears.

She opened her eyes; Hecate sat on her chest, mewing loudly at her. "Oy, you want food," she groaned. She started up, and stopped. Raising her wand, the refrigerator slammed open, the milk went flying out, hit the wall, and spilled. Hermione groaned. "You get out of practice…" Both Hecate and Crookshanks mewed their thanks and leapt to the tiled kitchen floor, lapping up the spilled milk. "Well, at least you're not bothering _me _anymore…"

"Hoot." Hermione groaned, and twisted. Calliope had landed on the windowsill, hooting loudly, a parchment tied to her feet. Rubbing her back, Hermione stood and went to the window.

"From Malfoy, I'll bet," she grumbled. "Barely even home – haven't even had _lunch _yet – and he owls me straight away. Honestly, couldn't he cut me some slack?" She sighed. "Who am I kidding? It's Malfoy. Of _course _he's not going to cut me some slack."

She petted Calliope's head – "There are some treats in the cupboard, and I'll get them for you in a moment" – and slit open the envelope, managing to give herself a paper cut in the process. Sucking on a finger, she collapsed once more on the sofa and read Malfoy's note.

_Granger –_

_If Calliope's got to you by now, it means you're home. Good. I don't know what time it is, but I'll give you the rest of the day off. If you're lucky, it's mid-morning and you have plenty of time to yourself. If you're not, it's night and you can get a few hours of sleep before coming into work._

_I have some news for you, which I will give you in person when you get to your lab. I hope you had some luck while researching the whatchamacallit potion at Hogwarts. Is Snape as unpleasant to you as ever? Funny, he always liked **me…**_

_Anyway, I'll see you in the office promptly at eight. I hope, for your sake, that you've got some good news. Because I've got plenty of news – some good, and some bad. At least, for me._

_Regards to your cat,_

_- Malfoy_

Hermione stared at the letter. "Did he _really _write regards to my _cat?" _Hermione wondered, and looked to Crookshanks, who had finished his milk and appeared to be settling in for a nap on the kitchen counter, right next to the (empty) fruit basket. "Malfoy sends his regards to you, Crookshanks," she said. Her cat rolled over and fell asleep.

Shaking her head, Hermione turned the Wireless off – at the moment, they were interviewing the co-heads of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, who had just brought the Nimbus 4000 into the field. Hermione smiled a bit; Harry would probably have that broom within a few days. His Nimbus 3900 was probably getting a bit rusty by now – Harry was always getting the top-of-the-line brooms. Whenever a new one came out, he was sure to have it.

Hermione stretched, and headed for the refrigerator. She paused by the spilled milk, and pulled out her wand. "_Evanesco,_" she muttered, and it disappeared. There was a grimy list about six weeks old attached to the fridge. Sighing, she picked up her decrepit self-inking quill and scribbled, in the tiny space at the bottom, "Milk." Then she set about making herself some lunch.

X-X-X-X-X

A/N: Ahh, a nice long chapter. I'm very proud of this, if I do say so myself. And no, Hermione is not going to have a relationship with Snape, not ever. This is strictly a D/Hr fic. He's just there to be… well, helpful. I also picture him as a sort of warped father-figure to Draco… And there actually IS a reason that I gave Hermione another cat. But you'll have to wait to find out what it is!

I don't intend this to be a super long fic, so don't be TOO surprised if it moves, well… fast. Like, really fast. I mean, we'll see a span of a couple of days, and, all of a sudden, it'll be two months later or something. I'm not really good at doing really academic and scholarly fics, because they involved too much work and research into Latin and stuff like that – at least, _I _think so. So I'm trying to avoid a load of academic, scholarly sort of crap in here. We'll see how it goes.

Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter! I mean, come on – every girl needs competition. I don't exactly count _Pansy Parkinson _as competition for Hermione, but… you get the idea. Anyway, Draco seems almost friendly in this chapter, doesn't he? Don't worry, he's still quite the egotistical prat. "Regards to your cat." I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. But _I _think it's cute.

Anyway, leave a review!

XOXO

   Peaches


	4. It Lives, Igor

Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Hermione Granger had always been the brightest of the bright; the best of the best. A previous Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione had aspirations to become a Healer – the best there ever was. But things didn't turn out the way she wanted them to. Hermione becomes the "odd one out" of the magical world, solely because of her non-magical heritage. Now, Hermione, aged 22, is poor and desperate. After being kicked out of her job at the Goblin Liaison Office and getting thoroughly pissed, Hermione searches the classified section of the Daily Prophet for a new job. She finds one, but it isn't quite what she expected… Particularly when she finds out that her boss is her old school tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Now, Hermione has to work on projects that become increasingly difficult, deal with how her friends finally seem interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have **_what it takes_**to make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?

X-X-X-X-X

"Granger, I'm glad you're here." Hermione glanced up – Malfoy had just entered her "lab." He began to pace, running his hands through his hair. His gray eyes were so frenzied and hectic that they almost appeared blue.

After he had paced for three minutes, she asked impatiently, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He turned to her. "What do you know about Narcissa Malfoy? You know, my mother?"

"Well, I didn't think you meant the _other _Narcissa Malfoy," she replied dryly. He glowered, and she straightened a bit, making an attempt to appear serious. "I know she was admitted to St. Mungo's about five years ago, immediately following the defeat of the Dark Lord," she said quietly. "I know that _you _pulled some strings and managed to convince the Ministry that she was unhinged, and that she ought to go to St. Mungo's and not Azkaban with your father."

"Good, good," he said, and leaned over the table so that his nose was about an inch from her. "Well, being barking mad doesn't stop her from writing me now and then."

"And your point _is…_?"

"Your friend Patil just can't keep her _damned mouth shut. _Then again, I shouldn't expect any less from a Gryff-" He stopped, seeing her murderous look, and cleared his throat. "Look, the point is, she must have told a lot of people, for the people in the loony bin at St. Mungo's to know about it."

"Know about _what?" _Hermione demanded impatiently.

"Our little dinner date at the Whirling Dervish."

"It was lunch, actually…"

"Whatever!" He was waving his arms around furiously, anxiety etched into his face.

"And it wasn't a date…"

"Yes, well, _you _can tell Mother that."

"I will do no such thing. This is your problem; you deal with it." Malfoy looked ready to spit venom, and she sighed, rubbing her temples. "I suppose she's having a fit because she thinks you're dating a _Mudblood, _is that it?" Hermione tried to keep from groaning. _Great, prejudice comes from all directions, even the loony bin at St. Mungo's…_

"Right. So she's upped my wedding date."

Hermione's head snapped up and she stared at him. "Beg pardon?"

"My _wedding, _Granger."

She gave him a blank look. "I didn't know you were getting married."

"Well, see, that's the thing. Until the note arrived from my mother last night, neither did I." He rubbed his eyes. "And I expect even _you _read the Daily Prophet, and believe me, if the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor was off the market, I imagine they'd print it."

Hermione coughed. "_Harry _is the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor."

"He is not! I'm much better-looking."

"Tell that to all the girls who are carrying around in their pockets that picture of Harry coming out of the locker room wearing only a towel…"

"If people saw _me _in only a towel, they'd swoon."

"Doubtful. You're too pale for most people's taste." She smirked. "Is there something _else _you wanted to say? Like, good news?"

He ignored that, still insulted over the remark about his pallor. "In any case, Pansy and I are due to get married in seven months."

"Ooh, can _I _be a bridesmaid?"

Malfoy didn't laugh, although Hermione did. "Not funny, Granger. In any case, Mother sent me a blistering Howler about you, so watch out for your mail, and threats to your life." He smirked. "If anybody thinks that you're dating _me,_ they might be forced to kill you. After all, killing one's girlfriend is the best way to get to date one."

"Bollocks. Look, Malfoy, I don't give a damn about your problems, because, frankly, I've got _more _than my own share."

"Like living in 'Chic Poor'?"

"Yeah, like that."

He cracked a smile, although it wasn't a very nice one. "Thanks for not being any help at all."

"You're welcome. What was the good news, by the way?"

"I found a vial of basilisk venom. It's in the icebox in the corner – has to be refrigerated. Don't drop it, because it will probably burn a hole straight through the floor."

"Ah."

"Have fun researching."

"I will once you've left." The door snapped shut behind him. She glanced at the icebox with some trepidation, and sighed. "Let the fun begin."

X-X-X-X-X

_Two Months Later_

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair. Two weeks ago, she'd finally become fully exasperated with her stool and transfigured it into a comfortable chair. It wasn't as useful when it came to brewing potions, but at least she had a comfortable place to sit.

Hermione looked at the six tiny cauldrons set up before her, three of which were empty. Going on Snape's notes, she'd continued to use his method. She'd ruled out quite a few ingredients, based on Snape's theory of the color of the potion. She only hoped he was right.

And if he was, it meant she was only one ingredient away from finishing. Of course, this was the original potion, and so it would be nearly impossible to manufacture (too expensive), particularly because of the basilisk venom. But it would be a very good starting point.

Now all she had to do was find the last ingredient. She couldn't afford to mess it up, either, because the three full cauldrons before had used up the last of her stock of basilisk poison.

_I only need three drops of it, but it's so vitally important to the potion… I only hope I can find something to replace it with…_

Hecate meowed loudly from where she had been asleep on one of the bookshelves. The kitten had grown in leaps and bounds, even over the relatively short period of two months. Crookshanks was becoming a bit old now, but Hecate made up for his laziness with her energy. It drove Hermione batty, trying to keep up with her new cat, but she loved her anyway. "What do you want _now?" _Aside from being constantly energetic, she was also very demanding, something that hadn't taken Hermione particularly long to discover (and dislike – or so she commented to Ginny in that one letter she'd written).

"Meow." Hecate was sitting on an open book on the bookshelf, mewing sleepily. With a sense of foreboding, Hermione went over to her cat and screeched so loudly that Hecate leaped off the shelf with a startled noise.

"Oh, _no! _That's Snape's book – he's going to be bloody _furious! _Oh, you stupid cat…" she moaned, quickly grabbing the book and looking it over for any marks. It appeared fine, but she glowered at her cat. "You do not touch this book," she said, slowly and clearly. "Understand?"

She looked back to the book. It had been immensely helpful in finding the other ingredients, and she had also managed to scribble down recipes of potions she could give Malfoy to manufacture in the future. Each one was as expensive as the Ignis Geluque Potion, however, but was better known. It wouldn't be quite as difficult to work on those, but for the moment, she was only concerned with one…

Hecate mewed indignantly as Hermione made a thorough check of the open pages, searching for marks. She stopped, suddenly, her eyes glued to one sentence, on page 763…

_…And so Helga's nephew Donald shouted for help. "Aunte Helga! I have burned myself, and it hurts very much! Thou must help me!" And she replied, "You foolish boy. I am very busy treating arrow wounds, and thou hast come to me with a burne? And I am all out of Murtlap Essence… how am I to treat thy burne with no potion? I shall have to ask Godric for some more." "But Aunte Helga, I do not like thy potion! It makes me feel very colde all over, like ice…"_

"Murtlap essence?" Hermione whispered, startled. "I never thought – hang on…" And an unbidden memory, from the fifth year, sprang into her mind…

_"'Here,' she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, 'soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help'…"_

"I'm so _stupid!" _she thought, hitting her head. "It gives almost instant relief to injuries of all kinds – how did I _not _think of that?"

She yanked out her wand and snapped, "_Incendio!" _A flame burst out, alighting on her hand. She quickly removed the flame, blowing it out, and stared at her hand. Sure enough, there was a small burn – not quite so bad as the one Malfoy had given her, but bad enough. She raced into the storage room and started pushing jars out of the way, finally finding the one she wanted.

Without hesitation, she poured it all over her hand. It gave some much-needed relief, although it did nothing to heal the burn. Quickly, she grabbed the jar and ran back to her table, and added some to each of the cauldrons.

The one that had previously held the exact recipe – or what she thought was the exact recipe, anyway – turned _pale blue._

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" she cried out, hopping up and down on the balls of her feet. "This is it, this is what I've been working for! _Yes!" _She grabbed Hecate and hugged the cat fiercely until she raked Hermione's arm with her claws. Hermione did not even notice.

"This is it! This is the one! I've done it, I've created one of the more obscure potions of the magical world!" Hermione was fully aware that she sounded like a manic scientist, but she didn't care.

Malfoy walked in just as Hermione was in the midst of her victory dance. His jaw dropped. At another time, Hermione might have found this funny. Instead, she grabbed his arms and started dancing in a circle. "I've _done _it!"

"I believe your next line is 'it lives, Igor,' or something to that effect," Malfoy muttered, yanking his hands back.

"It lives, Igor!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's witty, really. Now, tell me, Dr. Granger, _what _have you done?"

"I made it! I made the Ignis Geluque Potion!" Hermione seized Malfoy around the neck and hugged him fiercely. He gurgled, waving his arms about, trying to pull back, and Hermione jerked backwards, her cheeks flaming. "Um, sorry. I'm just… uh… happy."

Malfoy straightened his tie. "That's… good. Yes. Very good. But you still need to find a way to manufacture it more cheaply. The project is only half done."

"Way to ruin a great victory dance, Malfoy," Hermione replied, still grinning madly. "I'm really glad, though – I _made _it."

"Great. And now you want the day off, right? Because you've done it, and you figure that's it? Like, a reward?"

She gave him an insulted look. "Of course not. All that was the research part. Now comes the _really _difficult stuff. Here's where everything I ever learned in Potions kicks in." Malfoy was staring at her. "Anyway, I'd best get back to work." She looked calmed down from her high now. "I have a lot of work to do."

Malfoy gaped at her. "You don't _want _the afternoon off?"

"I didn't say _that. _I just know that you're too stingy to _give _it to me, so there's no point hoping."

Malfoy glowered. "I am _not _stingy! You get good pay, Granger!"

She paused. "Fair enough. But when it comes to breaks, I-"

"Get out."

"What?" She blinked in surprise.

"Get out!"

Now she gave him a furious glare. "I've only finished half the project. If you fire me, I'm taking all my research with me, and-"

"I said _get out, _not _you're fired! _Take the afternoon off! In fact, take tomorrow off, too! Hell, take the rest of the week off!"

She stared at him. "You're mental, you know?"

"I am _not _stingy!"

"And this is how you prove it, is it?"

"GO AWAY!"

Hermione grabbed her purse, Snape's book, her notes, and her cat, and then promptly left.

X-X-X-X-X

"Meow."

"Don't look at me like that," Hermione said crossly. Her fingers were itching to get back to her lab, but she had tried to go back in approximately ten minutes after walking out, and Malfoy had literally banished her from the premises. Hecate was staring at her. "Yes, I owe my success to you, because I never would have found it otherwise! There! Are you happy?"

"Meow."

Hecate was still staring accusingly at her. Crookshanks yawned and rolled over on his threadbare sleeping pillow. Hermione stared at it.

"You need a new pillow," she said decisively. Hecate had claimed one of Hermione's bed pillows as her own sleeping spot, but Hermione's pillows were falling apart, too. "_I _need a new pillow. Two, actually, because Hecate stole one." Crookshanks was now sleeping with his paws in the air.

Hermione looked at the cookie jar on the countertop. It was blue, with a picture of two unicorns playing under a rainbow. Really, it looked like something a child would have in their room. "I need a new cookie jar, too."

The cookie jar was what Hermione called her 'Magic Cookie Jar,' although there was really nothing magic about it – at least, there hadn't been, until Hermione put an expansion charm on it. It was really very childish, and didn't match the rest of her Spartan apartment, but she'd had it since she was a child, and could not part with it. For the time being, it served as her money safe – all her pay went into it, along with the thirty galleons Malfoy had given her that day in Diagon Alley. She suspected he'd forgotten about that, and wasn't going to remind him.

With those thirty galleons, there was a whopping total of about sixty-five galleons, give or take a few. Hermione grimaced – Ron made about twenty galleons a _day, _and Harry made at least a hundred and twenty. She didn't know how much Ginny made, but it was definitely more than what _she _did. Hermione sighed. Her pay was still better than it had been.

Grabbing her purse, Hermione entered the entire contents of the 'Magic Cookie Jar' into it. Really, her bag was yet another interesting thing about her. The bag had no magical properties whatsoever – it was big, though, and stuffed with everything from age-old receipts to candy bars and even a small can of Pepper Spray, although Hermione had, as of yet, never had a use for it. Her purse was the only part of her life that was not completely organized. Harry had, when they were still in touch, often jokingly called her a 'Magpie' with her purse as its 'nest,' implying that anything and everything went into it.

She sighed, and hefted the bag onto her shoulder, clutching it tightly. It was getting heavy, although that may have been the presence of all those galleons. Then again, it may have been the presence of the alarm clock.

She looked at Hecate and Crookshanks. "When I come back, it will be with enough things to give this place a completely new look." Then she strode decidedly out the door.

X-X-X-X-X

As it turned out, it did _not _give her flat a completely new look. All it did was make it a bit nicer. Hermione had bought four pillows – two large, cushy ones for Crookshanks and Hecate, and two down ones for herself – a nice rug to put under the semi-broken coffee table, a new clock (fire engine red, too), a comfy "Papa Sun" chair, a new purse, and two paintings: one of a quaint cottage by a stream, and another that somehow resembled the one Dobby had given Harry for Christmas back in their fifth year. Hermione referred to it as 'abstract.'

Hermione sighed, although Crookshanks and Hecate were now very content, and both purring loudly. Within moments, both were asleep. "Cats," she muttered, and looked at her new clock. Almost seven. Had she been gone that long? But it didn't matter. A few more months, and she would be the talk of the town... okay, maybe not, but still.

"Ha. _Ha! _I am _so _not chic poor!" she said cheerfully. Hecate woke up, too, and inspected the new chair. Without further ado, she abandoned her new pillow and leapt on it, curling up and sleeping at once.

"And it's barely seven, too! You know what this means, don't you?" She looked at Crookshanks, who was still snoring loudly. Hecate meowed, which she translated as 'What does it mean?' "I'm going out for a few celebratory drinks!" she replied cheerily. Don't wait up!" She gleefully picked up the new purse and strode out the door, intending to congratulate herself for some hard effort, a new style (okay not really, but she had a new clock and two paintings, anyway), finishing the potion, and, above all else, giving herself the much-needed boost to restart her life.

X-X-X-X-X

_Five and a Half Hours Later…_

"Tom, gimme another…"

Tom – at least, she thought it was Tom, but it was a bit difficult to see – sighed. "Did you get fired again, Hermione?"

"No!" She crossed her eyes and giggled. "Silly Tom. You know, it's sorta funny – you have the same Volim… Voled… Voldy-thing… you know, Tom the Bartender, and Tom Riddle? Say, Tom, just what _is _your last name?"

"Oh, God, what have you _done _to yourself?" Hermione whirled, but couldn't really make out the figure in front of her. "You're a wreck. How much have you drunk?"

"A lot," she slurred. "But I'm really happy. Reeeeaaaalllly happy. See?" She smiled drunkenly at him. The room was spinning, but she didn't notice. "M'smilin' and everything… ooh… come and have a drink with me, m'kay?" Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his arm and tugged him onto the seat beside her. All the drinks had made her feel flirty and bold, which was a feeling she wasn't used to.

He sighed. "Fine, but just a few. Then we're going straight back to your apartment. You're going to have a helluva hangover tomorrow, you know."

"Oh, who cares, anyway?" She stood up, and promptly fell back into her seat. "The night is young, and the stars are ours if only we could reach them…" She slapped his shoulder, hard. "Let's have some fun, eh?"

He sighed again. "If you say so. But only for a little while. Past your bedtime, you know…"

X-X-X-X-X

"Mmph." Hermione sighed contentedly, wriggling a little. "Nice and cozy," she mumbled, snuggling closer to the arm that tightly held her. "Never want to get up..." Hang on a second, ARM THAT HELD HER!?

She looked down. "Okay. Definitely not MY arm. Besides, I don't think I can twist it at that angle. And something - some_one_ is snoring like a chainsaw, and it is NOT Crookshanks..."

Bracing herself for whatever jackass she had brought home - she hoped it was nobody she knew, she'd NEVER live it down, and her head ached like a bitch - she turned.

Panic. Panic settled in, freaking her out. _Oh my god oh my god oh my god. Nononono. This is not happening. _She took several very deep breaths through her nose, breathing heavily. _Don't panic. Don't panic. This is a dream. It has to be a dream. Above all else, DO NOT PANIC._

She opened her mouth and screamed.

Malfoy swore and fell out of bed, holding his head. Hermione grabbed at the sheets, quickly covering herself up and staring at him in panic and horror as the reality of what had happened began to sink in. Malfoy sat groggily on the floor beside her bed, not even bothering to cover his very naked self. He stared up at her, and swore again. "Oh, bloody hell. Is this is a bad dream? I mean, really, if it is, it isn't all that bad. Because there is _nothing _worse than that time I woke up thinking I had just slept with Crabbe and Goyle in a threesome. Now _that _was unpleasant. And I don't want to think about that. Is this a dream?"

"I wish it was," she gasped. "Oh, god - just - just get out. Just go, please."

He shook his head, making his disheveled pale hair even more disheveled. "You know, you really aren't all that bad, and neither am I, and really, I wouldn't mind having another go-"

"Out!"

"Can I at least have some coffee, first? Some nice, strong, black coffee is just what I need to get going in the morn-"

"Out!"

"Can I _at least _put my trousers on first? Because I'd hate to have to walk out in the... er... 'nuddy-pants' or whatever they're called, but you know, this would only back up that excuse I gave your landlady about you leaving your bra at my place-"

"_Just get out!"_

"All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist," he muttered with an insulted look, and then he grinned. "Although, granted, you aren't wearing any-"

"_GET OUT!"_

_X-X-X-X-X_

_A/N: Oh my God, I'm __so __sorry. I had the worst case of writer's block, and… ick. It's been SO MANY months since I updated, and words cannot explain how apologetic I am. I've got exams coming up, though, so don't expect a lot of updates in the next two weeks. On the somewhat brighter side, I have vacation after that, which will hopefully give me more time to write. I'm really, really sorry._

_Okay, so I know this kinda moved too fast – but I really don't like having two stories going at once. And I don't want this to be a long story. Besides, we're still a far cry from an actual dating relationship – I mean, yes, they slept together, but let's face it. They were both drunk (Hermione more so than Malfoy). And you know what they say, right? One step forward, two steps backward… or something like that._

_And I just want to reiterate that this story has NOTHING to do with my Marauders one. Completely different. So none of those characters will be popping up here. Just FYI._

_So, in the upcoming chapters: Hermione and Malfoy get all awkward around each other, Hermione eventually starts up her research again. She has to condone with a very interesting lecture from her landlady, Mrs. Jones, and she has to do some fast thinking, some fast explaining. And the dreaded Pansy Parkinson appears, too! She gets news from some of her up-until-now long-lost friends, and she even gets to know some of her long-lost non-friends-more-like-acquaintances! Whee! She has a heartfelt chat with the Weasley twins, and, gasp Oliver Wood and Charlie Weasley appear! Hmm, I wonder why? Hermione seems to be getting quite popular… There are lots of old faces upcoming, so stay tuned!_

_And thanks to all my reviewers – I love you all!_

_XOXO Peaches_


	5. HalfTruths and Lies

Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Hermione Granger had always been the brightest of the bright; the best of the best. A previous Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione had aspirations to become a Healer – the best there ever was. But things didn't turn out the way she wanted them to. Hermione becomes the "odd one out" of the magical world, solely because of her non-magical heritage. Now, Hermione, aged 22, is poor and desperate. After being kicked out of her job at the Goblin Liaison Office and getting thoroughly pissed, Hermione searches the classified section of the Daily Prophet for a new job. She finds one, but it isn't quite what she expected… Particularly when she finds out that her boss is her old school tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Now, Hermione has to work on projects that become increasingly difficult, deal with how her friends finally seem interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have **_what it takes_**to make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?

X-X-X-X-X

_After Hermione had taken a shower (three, actually) and dressed, she felt much better. She reorganized her new purse and attempted to fix her coffee table. (It didn't work very well, and she resolved to get a new one on her next pay day). She placed the remaining money from the day before into her cookie jar (a grand total of eight Sickles) and immediately resolved to open a bank account at Gringotts when she had the money._

_She glanced at her new, fire-engine-red clock. 9:07._

_Ah, hell._

_Grabbing her new purse, she apparated to the office._

_Upon reaching there, Malfoy strode out of the lift, and stared at her. "Didn't I give you the rest of the week off?"_

_"Er… yes, but I-"_

_"Then get out."_

_Hermione frowned. "All right, for heaven's sake – I was __joking __when I called you stingy. There. Are you happy now? I was bloody __joking. __So can I work now? I'm really quite bored at home. So can I go back to work?"_

_Malfoy set his jaw stubbornly. "No. I don't go back on my gifts."_

_"It's not a gift, Malfoy, it's more like a bloody curse! I'm __bored! __What do you not understand about that?" Hermione stamped her foot. "You don't even have to __pay __me until next week; how's that?"_

_"No."_

_She flung her arms up. "__Why not?"_

_Malfoy stormed closer and his hand crossed around her upper arm. Leaning closer, he hissed, "Because after last night, I really have no idea what to do about you! It was entirely inappropriate, and-" He pulled back, a bright pink flush on his cheeks._

_Oh, dear. Pink isn't his color **at all**._

_"I – oh." Hermione bit her lip. This was awkward. Malfoy released her arm. "Okay," she said finally, her voice a bit higher than normal. "I'll – er – I'll just go now, shall I?"_

_Malfoy looked tired and irritable. "That'd be best, yeah."_

_"Okay then. Er – see you." __Or not._

_"Whatever."_

_She practically ran out the door._

_X-X-X-X-X_

_Hermione sat in the Leaky Cauldron, staring at her sandwich but not eating it. __I'm going to have to accept this. I slept with my boss – who just **happens** to be the very person who tormented me all through my school years – and now I don't know how to act around him. And I need a new coffee table._

_But at least I'm alone and can have a big introverted think, now. No one to bother me._

"_Hermione?" _Hermione looked up into a pair of shining, very green eyes. "Hermione!" Harry shouted, giving her a tight hug as he dragged her out of her booth seat. "It's been bloody _ages!"_

The pub was mercifully fairly empty, but the few people who _were _there were staring. One of them had a camera. _Oh, God. No, no don't- _Flash. –_Holy crap, that's not a good thing._

"Er – hi, Harry," Hermione replied, awkwardly patting him on the back. He finally set her down, and quickly sat down across from her. Feeling like she had no other choice, she slid back into her seat. Harry was firing questions at her rapidly, talking a mile a minute.

"Gosh, I can't believe it! It's just – we never see you anymore!"

Hermione didn't answer. _That's because you're all so busy with your own lives that you've forgotten about me._

"I heard you quit your job at the Ministry and are working at some Medical corporation, right? Ginny told me! Do you like it there? Is it a good job?"

"It's fine," Hermione finally said. "I mean, the pay's nothing special, but it's better than what I was getting."

"Well, that's good. Man, I feel awful. We haven't talked in so long, and we're supposed to be best friends! We always said we'd stay friends, and look at us now! You can barely look at me. I'm really sorry, Hermione. Hey, isn't your birthday coming up soon?"

Hermione blinked. Had Harry _always _talked that fast? "Er, yeah. Twenty-third birthday and all, you know. Nothing huge."

"You know what? We should celebrate it together. You, me, and Ron. Like old times. Hell, we could even invite our class from Hogwarts! And all the Weasleys – oh, the Quidditch team too – you know what? I've got a great idea. I'll talk to Ginny; she's amazing at planning these things. Your birthday's Friday, right? Keep it open – Ginny and I will plan everything. Speaking of Ginny-" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I'm supposed to meet her in an hour. At the Whirling Dervish, you know – it's her new favorite. Ever been there?"

"Yes," Hermione replied absently, staring at the wooden design of the tabletop. She was still trying to process everything Harry had said so far.

"Right, we'll I've got something _really _important to tell her. I can't put if off anymore. It's been on my mind for a long time, and I've finally decided to act on it. It was inevitable – it was coming. I shouldn't have even tried to bottle it up for so long, but… well… it was hard. It was a tough decision. But I really do think it's inevitable. It was bound to happen. You see…" Harry's voice faltered, and he seemed nervous. Hermione glanced up, startled to see how anxious he appeared.

This was Harry, for crying out loud. Harry! Harry, who'd been her best friend for _years, _who'd always stuck up for her, everything. He was like a brother she'd never had. Sure, he'd been busy. But she could forgive him for that, couldn't she? It wasn't like she'd ever made the move to contact him, either. Wasn't she at fault as much as he was?

She leaned forward, an earnest look on her face. "Harry, you can tell me anything. What's wrong? Are things going badly with Ginny?"

"Er… here." Harry took a small dark blue box out of his pocket and mutely opened it, revealing a mammoth diamond ring. Hermione sucked in a breath and stared at Harry, who was looking so uncomfortable. She thought she heard a click behind her, but she ignored it. "What do you think?" he finally asked desperately. "Say something, Hermione. Please."

Hermione bit back a grin. "Er, sorry, Harry, but I really don't think you're my type."

He looked astonished. "What? Wait, that's not what I meant! I was just-"

"I'm _kidding. _Relax. And Ginny will be thrilled, I'm sure. How long have you been thinking about proposing?"

"Ages," he admitted, looking a bit more relieved now. "I just wasn't sure when the right time was. And I was thinking – you know, we're so young, what do we want to be getting married for? I really want to do right by her. And then I thought about my parents – they got married right out of Hogwarts, didn't they? And I really do love Ginny. More than anything. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I just didn't know when. But now… I think it's time. But I wasn't sure." He tried to smile. "Am I doing the right thing?"

"Are you kidding? Definitely! Can I be Maid of Honor?" Hermione was suddenly reminded of a previous conversation with Malfoy – _"Ooh, can I be a bridesmaid?" _She smiled a little.

"Ginny will probably want you to be. You're best friends, aren't you?" _Best friends is a little strong, I think, _mused Hermione, but she nodded. "Well, you'll be a bridesmaid at the very least." He smiled. "You were a big part of my life before Hermione, and you're still one of my best friends now, despite everything that's happened. I want you to be part of my wedding."

"Speaking of which, have you set a date?"

"Er, no. See, there's that whole thing about having _not _proposed yet."

"Oh. Yeah. Good point." Hermione crossed her legs beneath the table. "So you're going to do it today?"

"That's the plan." He shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, God, I hope she says yes."

Hermione laughed lightly. "She will, Harry. I'm positive." She leaned forward eagerly. "You know, Harry, it _has _been ages since we talked. So come on, then. Tell me everything!"

X-X-X-X-X

Hermione awoke the next morning, feeling better than she'd felt since even getting her new job. She'd made friends with Harry again, in a way. Now all she had to do was call up Ron…

Ron! Good God, she'd forgotten about him. What would she say when he found out that she'd slept with Malfoy? Not that she was going to _tell _him, but these sorts of things had a nasty habit of finding their way to unwelcome ears. Then again, if she was careful… well, she hadn't even told Harry that she was _working _for Malfoy.

She'd have to eventually, she supposed, but that could wait.

Hermione stumbled to the bathroom and found the _Daily Prophet _waiting for her in there – she wondered how on _Earth _it had gotten inside, and didn't those owls usually need to be paid? Oh well. As she brushed her teeth, she glanced at the front page.

And promptly spit out her toothpaste, choking.

An Unexpected Proposal - Hero Harry Potter Bins Chic Girlfriend in Favor of Unkempt Childhood Friend - 

_By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

_Yesterday afternoon, hero of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Become-An-Amazing-Quidditch-Player, Harry Potter was seen in the Leaky Cauldron, pushing forth the little box that all women dream of to a startled but thrilled woman._

_Surprisingly enough, that woman was **not **the stylish Ginevra Weasley we have all become accustomed to seeing with Harry Potter on the cover of Witch Weekly._

_"It's true," said a bystander, who had taken many of the pictures that are bound to appear all over the Wizarding World now. "I saw him – pushing it towards her, and her staring in complete surprise." Our anonymous photographer sighed dreamily. "What a lucky girl."_

_A bedraggled, scruffy-looking woman that the lucky girl is, though. Hermione Granger, one-time Head Girl of the "Golden Generation," was the last woman anyone had suspected to become Mr. Potter's fiancé. Ms. Granger, according to expert beauticians, is "not the loveliest specimen of witchkind," and "Mr. Potter can do better than her."_

_Despite her less-than-perfect appearance, however, Ms. Granger seems to be collecting men as some of us collect Chocolate Frog cards. At the tender age of fourteen, Ms. Granger had a very intimate relationship with the world-renowned Viktor Krum, but left him for – surprisingly enough – the famous Harry Potter. She was also known to date Harry Potter's best friend, Ronald Weasley, another war hero, who is now allegedly affianced to the lovely Cho Chang of the Tutshill Tornados._

_But that is not all. Just last week, Ms. Granger was seen with the heir to the Malfoy fortune – Mr. Draco Malfoy himself. "Hmph," sniffed Mr. Malfoy's fiancé, Pansy Parkinson – who, indeed, is wearing the recognizable ring that once graced the hand of Narcissa Black Malfoy herself. "If you ask me, she's being thoroughly wanton, with all those men – besides, what would Draco be doing with a Muggleborn witch? He's got more caliber than that."_

_So it would seem. But then, why was Mr. Malfoy seen leaving Ms. Granger's apartment – at six in the morning just yesterday? Mrs. Jones, the hawkish caretaker, has refused to comment on Ms. Granger's "afterwork activities." And afterwork they are indeed – an anonymous benefactor has kindly sent us the tip that Ms. Granger is now employed by Mr. Malfoy. How interesting that she has a relationship with her boss. Certainly, Ms. Parkinson and many employees of Medical Charms Corporation will want to investigate this claim._

Hermione scanned the rest of the article. It was long – and much of the rest of it was about Harry, how devastated Ginny was sure to be, and how she had refused to comment – "_Presumably the dear girl does not want to face her crowd of well-wishers in the midst of heartbreak"_ – and other nonsense.

"Holy-"

"So am I allowed to be best man at the wedding, then?"

Hermione nearly screamed – but she managed to hold it inside, although she _did _drop her toothbrush. She scowled at Malfoy. "You know, your being in my apartment is only adding to the rumors."

"I apparated in this time," he replied smoothly. His dark gray eyes were angry. "Look, Granger, if you want to screw around with your best friend's man, that's your business, but-" _Slap. _"Ow! Holy Fuck, Granger, you don't have to do _that!"_

"I am _not _screwing around with Harry! As if I would! He's – he's not even my type! And there is no such thing as a holy fuck! You do realize that, don't you?" The fact that Hermione had focused on such an insignificant detail was probably testimony to her near-hysteria.

He seized upon her first comment. "Oh, and what _is _your type, then?"

"None of your damn business!" Hermione raged in response. She snatched her tatty robe from the hook on the back of the door and wrapped it around herself, shaking with suppressed anger. "Look, Malfoy, I know you're obviously upset about what this is doing to your – your reputation, if you want to call it that, but that is _not my problem._" She scowled. "My problem is that horrific Skeeter _cow _is spreading lies about me – ooh, I'm going to get her _so _badly for this – and Harry was most certainly _not _proposing to me, and you'd think _someone _might have noticed that he was on his way to propose to _Ginny _when he met me! Honestly!"

"Er… what?" Malfoy was holding his cheek and looked very upset now.

"He hadn't come to propose to me, idiot! We weren't even meeting for _lunch ­_– we just ran into each other while he was running around anxiously waiting for his date with Ginny, and then he asked me what I thought of his proposal for Ginny! _Honestly!"_

"I… oh." Malfoy actually managed to look slightly abashed. "Well… that explains it."

Hermione wasn't sure whether she ought to scream at him or burst into tears. Both options had their appeal.

He was looking at her carefully now. "Er…" He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Although he'd never tell her so, Hermione's hands were shaking as she bent to pick up her toothbrush. He looked very close to tears, and angry red blotches had appeared in her cheeks. "Sorry?" he tried.

She dropped her toothbrush again. "Goodness," she said in amazement, "I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you apologize. To _anyone._" Then she smiled mockingly. "Would you like a medal for that?"

Within moments, Malfoy was furious again. "Merlin, Granger, you really make a man want to kill you, you know that!"

"Yes, I have been told that before," she said irritably. "Now listen here, Malfoy – you go tell your vicious girlfriend to leave me the bloody hell alone, and _I'll _deal with Rita Skeeter if I need to." She marched to the door and placed her hand on the knob to shove him out. "And anyway, I'm sure it will all blow over by tomorrow."

Malfoy scowled. "Oh, whatever." He stormed up to her. "I'm heading out now."

"Be my guest," she shot at him, and wrenched the door open.

_Oh, shit._

X-X-X-X-X

"Miss Granger, what's it like being engaged to Mr. Potter-"

"Miss Granger, a moment of your time, that's all it takes-"

"-How long have you and Mr. Malfoy been sleeping together-"

"-Is Mr. Potter aware of your affair yet, Miss Granger?"

"Will the wedding still continue, Miss Granger?"

"Miss Granger, what do your parents have to say about all the love affairs you've been having?"

Fortunately, Malfoy reached out and slammed the door shut in the reporters' faces, before turning to glower at Hermione. "Nice going, Granger. Really nice."

"Oh, screw yourself, Malfoy," she snapped. "_You're _the one who showed up in my flat first thing in the morning! Now I'm going to have to explain to all _those _idiots that-"

"No."

"-I beg your pardon?"

"_No,_" he repeated sternly. "You'll only make it worse. You're going to have to stay inside for the rest of the day, and-" Hermione's phone began to ring. "God, how did you get a fellytone to work in Diagon Alley, surrounded by all that magic?"

"First off, it's a telephone, and… Hello?" She blinked as she picked up the phone. "Malfoy, it's for you."

He looked green. "Who is it?"

She briefly considered telling him it was his mother, just to see how she'd react, but she didn't. Instead she told him the truth. "It's Anne. Your secretary, and not the slutty French one."

He scowled at that and took the phone. "Anne?" he asked slowly. Hermione heard some noise, and nodded several times. "Right. Well, thanks." He hung up and looked at Hermione. "Guess I'm stuck here."

"_WHAT?"_

Malfoy winced and backed away. "Mother's at home, and she's already raising holy hell about the article – she's called the office several times and is apparently having a horrible time of it, trying to get all the reporters out of Wiltshire. And the office is being mobbed, too. I've got nowhere to go."

"I don't care _where _you go, Malfoy, so long as you don't stay here!" He plopped onto her couch. "Malfoy!" she snapped. "Are you listening?"

"Yes, actually, but like it or not, Granger, I'm staying here until it's safe to go home. Say, do you have something to eat?"

"I have cat food, if you want that," she told him coldly. He grimaced. "Or cereal," she added halfheartedly, "although I never got around to getting milk, so you'll have to have it dry."

He wrinkled his nose. "Cereal and cat food? Granger, what do you _eat?"_

"Cereal," she responded. "And Soup-From-A-Can, too. Ooh, and frozen waffles. You want one of those?"

"How do you eat a frozen waffle?" he asked curiously. "Isn't it – you know, icy?"

"Malfoy, don't be an idiot – well, more than you are." She rolled her eyes. "You put it in the toaster oven, first."

"Oh. I've never had frozen waffles," he admitted finally, "so can I have those?"

"I'm out of syrup," she informed him. "And honey and butter, too, so you'll have to eat them plain."

"Do plain frozen waffles taste good?"

Hermione looked thoughtful, and then said, "No."

"Ick. Never mind, then. What else do you have?"

"Well, that's it. Cat food, cereal, soup which is really soupy water no matter _what _the can says, and frozen waffles. Take your pick."

Malfoy took a deep breath. "I think I'll starve, thanks."

"Suit yourself." Hermione went to her freezer and began to take waffles from it, preparing two for herself. She placed them in the toaster and kept one eye on them as she commented, "You can turn the Wireless on, if you like."

Malfoy did so, and blanched as a screechy feminine voice came blaring through. "_AND IN OTHER NEWS TODAY, HARRY POTTER HAS JUST PROPOSED TO THE LUCKY MISS HERMIONE GRANGER-"_

"Change the channel," Hermione said. "Please." He did so, and this time, they _both _blanched.

"_ENGAGED NOT TO MISS WEASLEY, BUT TO MISS GRANGER, A CHILDHOOD FRIEND BUT OTHERWISE UNKNOWN ENTITY TO THE PUBLIC-"_

"Malfoy, change the-"

"_NOT ONLY HAS MISS GRANGER BECOME ENGAGED TO THE WEALTHY MR. POTTER, IT APPEARS THAT SHE ALSO KEEPS A SECRET PARAMOUR, NONE OTHER THAN PLAYBOY DRACO MALFOY-"_

"Playboy?" Hermione asked in amusement as he changed the channel once more.

"_-AND THIS JUST IN, BESIDES HER RECENT TRYSTS WITH MR. MALFOY, IT APPEARS THAT MR. MALFOY WAS WITNESSED AS BEING IN HER APARTMENT BY NO FEWER THAN ELEVEN WITNESSES JUST THIS MORNING-"_

Malfoy switched the Wireless off. "What happened to good, old-fashioned music?" He scowled at her as she sat down next to him now, munching on a waffle. "And you said it would blow over."

"So I was wrong; sue me."

"Not that it'd do any good. I don't think you have any money." He leaned back in her Papa Sun chair. "This is a great chair. I want one."

"I bought it at a secondhand shop."

"Oh, forget it, then." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I thought you said those tasted bad."

"They do. But it's better than starving." She watched him carefully, but nevertheless yelped in surprise when his hand shot out and snagged her waffle. "Hey!" Then she grinned. "Leggo my eggo!"

He was so startled that he let go in surprise. "What does _that _mean?"

"Forget it. Muggle humor."

He cast her a strange look. "Right." Then he scowled as she bit into the plain waffle and made loud mm-ing noises. "Can you make me one?" he finally asked.

"No. Make it yourself."

"Except I don't know _how._"

"Well," Hermione responded sweetly, "you could always go _home _and ask Mummy dear to make you something."

He winched, and then said, "You're a witch, you know? Literally and figuratively. Besides," he added with an evil grin, "I don't get my _mother _do make me food. That's what elves are for, you silly Muggleborn." Hermione's expression turned murderous, and he continued wickedly, "Although I suppose you could call them slaves, couldn't you?"

Hermione sputtered for a bit, unable to think of a reasonable comeback, until she finally spat, "You're a pig!" and so venomously stuffed her waffle into her mouth that she choked. Malfoy watched in bemusement until she swallowed and began to inhale large gulps of air. Scowling at him, she said, "If I'd died, you wouldn't have anyone to finish your blessed research, Malfoy."

"True. I'll keep that it mind next time you're choking on frozen waffles in front of me."

With another deep scowl, she mumbled, "I'm going for a shower. Stay here and _don't _peek."

"Believe me, Granger, there's nothing to peek at." He grinned viciously. "Besides, it's nothing I haven't seen be-" She could practically _hear _him smirking on the other side of the bathroom door as he bellowed, "Just because you slammed the door doesn't mean you can't _hear _me!"

X-X-X-X-X

When Hermione emerged from her bathroom, freshly dressed, her eyes immediately flew to Malfoy, who was examining the portably disc-player that her father had given her two years ago. "How does this work?" he asked in amazement. "It runs on – ecklectricity, does it?"

Hermione stifled the urge to tell him that he sounded like Arthur Weasley and rolled her eyes, saying, "It's _electricity, _and yes, it does. And I've charmed it; how else d'you suppose it works?"

Malfoy gave her a strange look. "There are no spells to make Muggle things like this run in a magical place like Diagon Alley."

"Well, of course there aren't! Which is terrible, let me tell you, because I have so many things in here that are so much more convenient than using house-elves or having to cook yourself, but of course, God forbid that the Ministry ever agree to use anything remotely Muggle-"

"Granger, you've missed my point. These things shouldn't _work. _There is no such spell." Hermione stared at him wordlessly; he stared back. "Holy – you _invented _a spell?"

"Invent is a bit strong," Hermione replied coolly. "There are plenty of spells that will charm Muggle things like cars and stuff to give them extra capabilities, as long as you know where to look for them." _Like in Mr. Weasley's shed, _she thought, but kept that to herself. "I just expanded on a few of them, that's all."

"That's not possible!" he sputtered.

"What nonsense; of course it is. I've done it, haven't I? There is very little that's _impossible, _Malfoy, surely you've realized that. Look at the potion. I went from knowing nothing to recreating an ancient recipe, and now I'm going to change it around so that it isn't nearly so expensive, and so that people can buy it and use it. Or take flying, for example – once upon a time, people believe that there was no way to fly except for the conventional ways – you know, aeroplanes, magic carpets, broomsticks, that sort of thing – but obviously somebody made a spell so that you could enchant other things to fly, didn't they? And it all started with a simple levitation spell, too."

"Hell, Granger, you know entirely too much. Shut up now, would you?"

Hermione shook her head. "You're so close-minded. There are too many people like you; that's why the world never changes. Nobody cares enough to try, and those who do are shunted aside and their potential is wasted."

Malfoy gave her an odd look. "Your potential isn't _wasted, _Granger. What you're doing is helping the Wizarding World, you do realize that, don't you?"

"I'm not helping the way I wanted to." Hermione took a deep breath. "Your job offer said that I could train to be a Healer. You know I'm capable. What are you waiting for? Train me, and I'm out of your life for good."

"You wanted to be a Healer. How much more do you think that will help?"

"That's not _exactly _what I – why am I discussing this with you? It isn't any of your business. Would you please apparate to some hellhole that's away from her? Don't go back to the office; don't go back to your house, I don't care where you go, just… go away."

Malfoy frowned at her. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know! I don't care, either, but I want you to leave!" Hermione was starting to feel slightly hysterical again. "I can't be around you; it's drive me insane!"

A cat-like grin came across his face, and she immediately regretted it. "I'm driving you insane, am I?"

"I did _not _mean it like that," Hermione said sharply, and stepped back as he advanced forward. She put out her hand in a puny attempt to keep him away from her, only to have it come into contact with his chest. She jerked her hand back, as though she'd been burned. "Malfoy, I swear, if you come any closer, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Stepping closer, he placed his arms on either side of her and pressed his mouth fiercely to her.

Hermione jerked her wand out of her pocket and yelped a muffled, "_Tarantallegra!" _against his lips.

Malfoy flew away from her as his legs began moving of their own accord, dancing madly to some unheard tune. "That's mature," he snapped at her. "Take this bloody thing off of me!"

Pressing a hand to her mouth, mostly to ward off giggles, she shook her head, but stiffened as the telltale green flames began to sweep through her fireplace. Gasping, Hermione shoved Malfoy into her bedroom and locked the door securely just in time for a pretty redheaded witch to emerge from the fireplace, brushing Floo powder and suit from her powder blue robes.

"Bloody hell, I've ruined my robes," Ginny murmured irritably. "And they cost so much, too – hello, Hermione, I hope you don't mind my stopping in?"

"Not at all," Hermione gasped, cheeks flaming. She accepted Ginny's warm hug quickly. "It's – er, it's lovely to see you, Ginny, but it's awfully early for social visits, isn't it?" Realizing that it sounded too much like she wanted to get rid of Ginny (which she desperately did, due to the muffle thumps coming from her bedroom, but she certainly didn't want to _seem _like she did), she added quickly, "Not that I'm not thrilled to have you here, because it's been forever, hasn't it?"

"Mm, it has," Ginny agreed, sitting into her Papa Sun chair. She smiled. "D'you know, this is the best chair I've ever sat in? You have to tell me where you got one; I'm getting one for Harry and myself. Which is what I came to talk to you about, actually." She crossed her arms over her chest and smirked; Hermione could see the diamond ring glittering on her finger. "How is that we're both engaged to the same man?"

"No idea," Hermione offered with a somewhat fake grin. "I wondered that myself, actually – how _did _that manage to happen? Bit odd, really." Her smile faded. "Goodness, everyone in the world must think I'm some sort of-"

"-Scarlet woman?"

Hermione laughed. "Yes, that. Thank goodness my parents don't get the _Daily Prophet. _I'm going to have to do some emergency damage repair, now, aren't I? I'll also have to find someone to print the truth about that awful Skeeter woman; enough is enough."

"Yes, I agree, and do tell me when you do, won't you? I'll have all my friends read the article, and not to worry, they'll spread the story fast enough so that whoever hasn't _read _the article will at least hear about it. So there's nothing between you and Harry, I presume?"

"Nothing at all. I've seen him for the first time in nearly a year and a half just yesterday."

"He told me all about his plans for your birthday – and oh, Hermione, it sounds like such a _wonderful _idea! You will come this weekend, won't you?"

"I suppose so," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Although I don't know who I'll know there; I haven't spoken to most of my Hogwarts friends in ages…"

"Well, this will be wonderful, then, just like a reunion, won't it?" Now she was gazing over Hermione's shoulder, and frowned. "Hermione, have you kept Crookshanks – or that new cat, that what's-its-name, Hecate – locked up in your bedroom? Because whichever one it is, it's making an awful lots of noise."

Hermione's flush came back, full-force, and a wicked grin spread across Ginny's face. "Unless, of course, it's not a _cat _that's in there."

"No, no, it's Crookshanks," Hermione tried to assure her, but then they heard the loudest thump of them all and a bellowed, "FUCK!" Hermione pressed her face into her palms.

Ginny giggled, and then quickly sobered. "Hermione… I _was _listening to the Wireless today, and… well… you and Malfoy… don't really have a thing going on, do you? And you're not working for him, surely. Those are just lies, right?"

"Er…" Hermione sighed, and said, "Wait here a moment, would you?" Getting up, she opened her bedroom door, and glowered at Malfoy. "Ginny's here, and we're going to be having a long talk, so you really do need to get out, now." She glanced at him, and added, "How'd you get the hex off?"

"It wore off," Malfoy told her, and then added, "which mean you really _weren't _trying to push me away, if there was no real force behind the spell-"

"Malfoy, get out!" Hermione snapped at him, and he grinned and apparated. Hermione turned back to Ginny, to see her open-mouthed stare. "Hang on, I'll go make some tea. We're going to be here for a very long time, I already know it."

X-X-X-X-X

A/N: Okay, I know it's been forever, and I'm sorry, but this story is harder to update than the other, and I don't have a lot of time. I've lost a lot of steam for this story and it's just getting harder and harder to spit out these chapters, and although I certainly won't abandon it, I just have very little time for Fanfiction in general right now, and I'm going to CONTINUE to have very little time. All I can say is I'm trying, and to keep checking back for an update, because I'm doing my best, and I'm sorry for the long waits.

Okay, on to questions, because there are a few raised. First…

1. Yes, it is weird that Hermione's friends (like Harry, Ron, and Ginny) are so removed from her life, but I figure that it's been about four years or so since they graduated, and people change a lot, and things have changed, sometimes people just go their own separate ways. Now, assuming all of them survive JKR's books, I don't believe that they'd drift apart (in the canon universe, that is, in the actual BOOKS) but for the purpose of the story, they had to, else things wouldn't fit in the way they do. I view it in several ways: first, that, like I said, people DO change; second, that all of them are very busy with their own lives; and third, that yes, they have drifted apart, because friendships take work, and if you are too busy to spend time working on it, it is inevitable that friendships will fall apart. That does not mean that they can't be repaired, all it means is that for the TIME BEING, they're… pushed into the background. You may have noticed, but Hermione and Harry are getting along decently well in the beginning of this chapter, and next chapter will certainly have more of Ginny in it, and they'll get along too. They're catching up on old times and reminding one another that friendships are too important to be let go, and it's unlikely that any of them will forget about Hermione in the future.

2. Draco in charge of the MCC. It's imperative that you understand that he's not in it to HELP THE WIZARDING WORLD. I doubt he would give a shit about the general health of the wizarding world, unless it directly involved him. He's not making the potions; he's just the boss. He owns the company, which makes a lot of money. I always picture him as never holding an actual JOB down – more as just owning companies, buying more, and then selling them off in separate parts like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. He doesn't _work, _per say. He just owns the company. And whatever makes more money…

3. About Hermione's not groaning a lot about Malfoy being her boss – I speeded up this story a lot. At the beginning, she was supposed to be upset, and she was for a while, but Hermione's not stupid, and she realizes that she's in a very bad situation at that point in time, and there isn't much choice in the job range for something that she wouldn't mind doing. Working for Malfoy sucks, but being unemployed and having no money and having to pay bills sucks even more. My mom always told me you have to find a way to work with people you may not like, possibly even hate, and she's right, and that's what Hermione's doing; learning to work with and get along with someone she doesn't like. Besides, she _did _want to be a Healer, and this is going to get her going in that general direction.

4. Draco's first meeting with Hermione: yes, that was short, and not very much was written. I'm thinking I may have to rewrite that part, because I'm not very happy with it, but I couldn't think of much to write at the time, and I really wanted to get going on that. Sorry.

5. Draco and Hermione's background: I said this I think in #2, but I feel the need to reiterate it: it has been four years since Hogwarts, and people change. From what JKR has given us, we only know something of what Malfoy's like at fifteen. What Hermione is like at fifteen-sixteen. We have no idea what they'll be like at twenty-two, going on twenty-three. Granted, JKR did say that Malfoy would never hook up with the good guys, but I take that as artistic license for me. In any case, the point I'm trying to make is it's been a LONG time, people change, and this story is written from Hermione's POV and not Draco's, which means we known little to nothing about him and his personality beyond what Hermione sees. As far as I am concerned, Draco is a rather flat character thus far in this story, and though that will change, we still know next-to-nothing about him, and he could be a saint for all we know (although he's not, don't worry, I don't take THAT much artistic license).

6. Draco being OOC: Yeah, he is, but in most of the stories where he hooks up/falls in love with one of the Golden Trio or Ginny, he IS OOC. Deal with it.

7. I understand that the premise for this is wrong, what with most of the world being made up of Muggleborns. (Somebody pointed that out to me, and I do have to agree with that person, although I can't remember who it is). I see it that Dumbledore was one of the biggest advocates for Muggleborn rights, and he's definitely not afraid to speak out about it, but (and I'm sure I mentioned this, but I can't remember), HE'S DEAD IN THIS STORY. The war is over, and the Wizarding World is corrupt, with the people in money (pureblood bigots, most of them) being the people in power. There are a few here and there, but nobody is making a major attempt to try and change society, even the people who know it SHOULD be changed. Some people think, "It's not happening to me, so I don't care", some people think, "Good riddance, those damn Mudbloods," and other people think, "It's never going to change anyway, so what's the point?" Hermione is none of those people, and that issue WILL be addressed in this story.

I think that's it, but if it isn't, please let me know in your review. I realize some of these answers may not be adequate or explanatory enough, and I realize that a lot of what goes on in this story is a little far-fetched or whatever, but the truth is, any story that has Draco as a good guy and hooking up with a good guy for non-sinister purposes is going to be far-fetched. In the canon universe, JKR more or less said that he won't hook up with Harry, Ron, Hermione, or Ginny, and that he's not going to become important or anything, that he's just a nasty bully who likes to make Harry's life generally miserable, because that his job as his rival, and as a kid who's on the opposite side of the war. I think, that as little as we know about canon Draco, he certainly has the POTENTIAL to become good, but it's unlikely.

Now that I'm done ranting – I'll leave you to it. I apologize for this story's lateness, and I appreciate any reviews you guys can leave, because without you all, there wouldn't BE a story. So thank you for sticking with me this far, and be on the lookout for the next update, whenever that may be.


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